| |
| WHEN on my soul in nakedness | |
| His swift, avertless hand did press, | |
| Then I stood still, nor cried aloud, | |
| Nor murmured low in ashes bowed; | |
| And, since my woe is utterless, | 5 |
| To supreme quiet I am vowed; | |
| Afar from me be moan and tears,— | |
| I shall go softly all my years. | |
| |
| Whenso my quick, light-sandaled feet | |
| Bring me where Joys and Pleasures meet, | 10 |
| I mingle with their throng at will; | |
| They know me not an alien still, | |
| Since neither words nor ways unsweet | |
| Of storëd bitterness I spill; | |
| Youth shuns me not, nor gladness fears,— | 15 |
| For I go softly all my years. | |
| |
| Whenso I come where Griefs convene, | |
| And in my ear their voice is keen, | |
| They know me not, as on I glide, | |
| That with Arch Sorrow I abide. | 20 |
| They haggard are, and drooped of mien, | |
| And round their brows have cypress tied: | |
| Such shows I leave to light Grief’s peers,— | |
| I shall go softly all my years. | |
| |
| Yea, softly! heart of hearts unknown. | 25 |
| Silence hath speech that passeth moan, | |
| More piercing-keen than breathëd cries | |
| To such as heed, made sorrow-wise. | |
| But save this voice without a tone, | |
| That runs before me to the skies, | 30 |
| And rings above thy ringing spheres, | |
| Lord, I go softly all my years! | |
| |
