Through seas of pain and surging storms of grief, O sweetheart, we pursue our weary way, Waiting till on life's hill-tops the new day Shines, gilding every blossom, every leaf. O comforter of mine, of helpers chief, More patient at love's mournful long delay Than I,—less angered at the cloud-wreaths grey,— Speak words of hope: the sails of dawn unreef! Lo! I am weary; weary unto death. Long is the struggle, and the night is long: Not yet upon the hills the morning's song Broods, nor the sweetness of the morning's breath. Still am I battling 'mid the tides of night: O sweet star-lady, grant me thy starlight! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...KING DAVID by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET EUROPE A PROPHECY by WILLIAM BLAKE THE MAN WITH THE HOE'; A REPLY by JOHN VANCE CHENEY THE HOCK-CART, OR HARVEST HOME by ROBERT HERRICK SONNET: 27 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL L'ENVOI: THE RETURN OF THE SIRE DE NESLE, A.D. 16 - by HERMAN MELVILLE |