I WOULD not chronicle my life By dynasties of joy or pain, By reigns of peace or times of strife, By accidents of loss or gain: The Hopes that nurtured in my breast Have been the very wings to me On which existence floats or rests, -- These only shall my eras be. Whether they rose to utmost height And glistened in the noonday sun, Descending with as full delight When all was realised and won; Or whether mercilessly checked By adverse airs and lowering skies, They sunk to earth confused and wrecked Almost before they dared to rise; With equal love I love them all For their own special sakes, nor care What sequence here or there might fall, Each has its sweet memorial share: Let but my Hopes, in coming years, Preserve their long unbroken line, And smiles will shine through any tears, And grief itself be half-divine. For not to man on earth is given The ripe fulfilment of desire; -- Desire of Heaven itself is Heaven, Unless the passion faint and tire: So upward still, from hope to hope, From faith to faith, the soul ascends, And who has scaled the ethereal cope, Where that sublime succession ends? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SINCE THOU ART GONE by HENRY VAUGHAN THE MERRIMAC by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER FIRMILIAN; A TRAGEDY by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN CHRISTMAS by CHARLOTTE LOUISE BERTLESEN THE RECRUITING SERGEANT; A MUSICAL ENTERTAINMENT: AIR by ISAAC BICKERSTAFFE |