More blest than was of old Diogenes, I have not held my lantern up in vain. Not mine, at least, this evil -- to complain : "There is none honest among all of these." Our hopes go down that sailed before the breeze ; Our creeds upon the rock are rent in twain ; Something it is, if at the last remain One floating spar cast up by hungry seas. The secret of our being, who can tell ? To praise the gods and Fate is not my part ; Evil I see, and pain ; within my heart There is no voice that whispers : "All is well." Yet fair are days in summer ; and more fair The growths of human goodness here and there. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CHRISTMAS CAROL (2) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI OUR MASTER by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER PORTRAIT SONNETS: 3 by HENRY BELLAMANN CHRISTMAS EVE by MATHILDE BLIND BLUE BUTTERFLY by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN WAR AUTOBIOGRAPHY; WRITTEN IN ILLNESS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |