IF but some vengeful god would call to me From up the sky, and laugh: "Thou suffering thing, Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy, That thy love's loss is my hate's profiting!" Then would I bear, and clench myself, and die, Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited; Half-eased, too, that a Powerfuller than I Had willed and meted me the tears I shed. But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain, And why unblooms the best hope ever sown? -- Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain, And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan.... These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN APPEAL TO CATS IN THE BUSINESS OF LOVE; SONG by THOMAS FLATMAN SENCE YOU WENT AWAY by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON A PAINTED FAN by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON YOUR LAD, AND MY LAD by RANDALL PARRISH THE TEMPERAMENTS by EZRA POUND BREAK OF DAY IN THE TRENCHES by ISAAC ROSENBERG SONNET FOR A PICTURE by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE |