Tell me not that death of grief Is the only sure relief. Tell me not that hope when dead Leaves a void that nought can fill, Gnawings that may not be fed. Tell me not there is no skill That can bind the breaking heart, That can soothe the bitter smart, When we find ourselves betrayed, When we find ourselves forsaken, By those for whom we would have laid Our young lives down, nor wished to waken. Say not that life is to all But a gaily coloured pall, Hiding with its deceitful glow The hearts that break beneath it, Engulphing as they anguished flow The scalding tears that seethe it. Say not, vain this world's turmoil, Vain its trouble and its toil, All its hopes and fears are vain, Long, unmitigated pain. What though we should be deceived By the friend that we love best? All in this world have been grieved, Yet many have found rest. Our present life is as the night, Our future as the morning light: Surely the night will pass away, And surely will uprise the day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH: FOR MY GRANDMOTHER by COUNTEE CULLEN THE HEART OF THE TREE by HENRY CUYLER BUNNER THE DESERTED PLANTATION by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR EXTRACTS FROM AN OPERA: 2. DAISY'S SONG by JOHN KEATS GRIN by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE AT TWO-AND-TWENTY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 18. A PORTRAIT by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |