All hope, child, is a reed. God weaves the hours in his loom; About the fatal arms they speed— The thread breaks, and our joy is doom. The cradle's seed Ripens, a tomb. The future once bore flowers bright For my startled soul to cull: Flowers that gladdened dark with light; Heaven, and the starglow; ocean, and the gull ... But now the sight Is dull. If, near by, someone weeps who smiled, Wonder not whence his dole. Sweet is sorrow, sorrow mild On whom Fate's heaving billows roll. ... Every tear, child, Laves a soul. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MAN TO BE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON CHAMBER MUSIC: 11 by JAMES JOYCE VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 7. ROME by SARA TEASDALE FOR ONCE, THEN, SOMETHING by ROBERT FROST EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK, AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD by ROBERT BURNS A VISION OF CONNAUGHT IN THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY by JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN |