How strange, in some brief interval of rest, Backward to look on her far-stretching past. To see how much is conquered and repressed, How much is gained in victory at last! The shadow is not lifted, -- but her faith, Strong from life's miracles, now turns toward death. Though much be dark where once rare splendor shone, Yet the new light has touched high peaks unguessed In her gold, mist-bathed dawn, and one by one New outlooks loom from many a mountain crest. She breathes a loftier, purer atmosphere, And life's entangled paths grow straight and clear Nor will Death prove an all-unwelcome guest; The struggle has been toilsome to this end. Sleep will be sweet, and after labor rest, And all will be atoned with him to friend. Much must be reconciled, much justified, And yet she feels she will be satisfied. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VERSES FROM THE GRANDE CHARTREUSE by MATTHEW ARNOLD A THUNDERSTORM IN TOWN by THOMAS HARDY WRINKLES by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR ALONZO THE BRAVE AND THE FAIR IMOGINE by MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS THE GHOSTS OF THE BUFFALOES by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY A DECANTER OF MADEIRA, AGED 86, TO GEORGE BANCROFT, AGED 86 by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL RICH AND POOR; OR, SAINT AND SINNER by THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK |