The faint lose faith When in the tomb their all is laid, And there returns No echoing of weal or woe. The strong hope on, They see the clods close over head, The grass grow green, No word is said, And yet— A little world within the world Are we, Daily our hearts' high yearnings fade, Are buried! New ones are made,— Are crucified! @3And yet@1— | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A DAY IN BED by KATHERINE MANSFIELD EPIGRAM: 59. ON SPIES by BEN JONSON A QUOI BON DIRE by CHARLOTTE MEW SONNET: 8. WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE CITY by JOHN MILTON THE MASTER by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON AMORETTI: 15 by EDMUND SPENSER A LUNCHEON (THOMAS HARDY ENTERTAINS THE PRINCE OF WALES) by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM |