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| O GOLDEN shape! Fair, full-blown flow’r of heaven! | |
| Gift of the dawn and far-possessing sea! | |
| Thou foster-child of sunshine and the free | |
| Wild air of summer, wherefore art thou given | |
| To mock us with delights which quickly flee | 5 |
| Th’ inviting of our souls? Art thou, O God! | |
| Offended that thy weary children groan, | |
| And wither in their anguish at thy rod, | |
| And think it but small ill to walk alone | |
| On this thine earth, wishing their cares away, | 10 |
| Yet finding them grow deadlier day by day? | |
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| Oh, ’tis enough that the sharp solstice brings | |
| Numb snow and frost to bite us to the heart; | |
| That devilish pain and sickness smite apart | |
| Ease and keen pleasure in the face of things. | 15 |
| Those gifts from heaven could we take athwart | |
| Our little eager paths, and bear the cross | |
| Meekly; yet they are nought to these; hope dies | |
| And leaves us desolate, and love is loss, | |
| And hatred burns our bones, and mercy flies | 20 |
| Our sundering souls, and progress funeral | |
| Towards the love that reigns and rules o’er all. | |
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| Our pain hath no dismissal, and our joys | |
| But speed us to our ashes. In life’s charm | |
| There lifts a cold, intolerable arm | 25 |
| Which smites the very infant at its ploys. | |
| Our comfort wastes, and fair forms come to harm— | |
| Naught lasts but sorrow, all things else decay, | |
| And time is full of losing and forgetting, | |
| Our pleasure is as iron and rusts away, | 30 |
| Our days are grief, and scarcely worth their setting, | |
| Wherein there is repose and slumber deep, | |
| And therefore are we thankful for our sleep. | |
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| We all are thankful for a little sleep, | |
| For therein there is peace and easy death, | 35 |
| And solace for our sad, impatient breath. | |
| Perchance therein we lose ourselves, and keep | |
| Part of an ageless silence; yet one saith | |
| We are but born to linger and to fear, | |
| To feel harsh fleeting time and aimless woe. | 40 |
| Th’ inscrutable decree which brought us here | |
| Makes myriads wretched, and shall keep them so | |
| Till death uplifts the bars for those who wait | |
| And yearn along the soundless gulfs of fate. | |
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| Still let us wait beneath the glorious sun, | 45 |
| And, be his light or strengthened or subdued, | |
| Let light come to our eyes, for it is good | |
| To see the small flow’rs open one by one, | |
| And see the wild wings fleeting through the wood, | |
| They grow and perish uncomplainingly, | 50 |
| And blameless live and end their blameless years, | |
| And mayhap we are blind, and cannot see | |
| The rainbow shining in a mist of tears; | |
| And mayhap we are dull, and cannot feel | |
| The touch which strengthens and the lips which heal. | 55 |
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