SOMETIMES for days Along the fields that I of time have leased, I go, nor find a single leaf increased; And hopeless, graze With forehead stooping downward like a beast. O heavy hours! My life seems all a failure, and I sigh, What is there left for me to do, but die? So small my powers That I can only stretch them to a cry! But while I stretch What strength I have, though only to a cry, I gain an utterance that men know me by; Create, and fetch A something out of chaos, -- that is I. Good comes to pass We know not when nor how, for, looking to What seemed a barren waste, there starts to view Some bunch of grass, Or snarl of violets, shining with the dew. I do believe The very impotence to pray, is prayer; The hope that all will end, is in despair, And while we grieve, Comfort abideth with us, unaware. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 11 by EZRA POUND MUJER by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS SPIRIT OF '76 by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND by REGINALD HEBER TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE FIRST DAY: THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW COMMEMORATIVE OF A NAVAL VICTORY by HERMAN MELVILLE |