But the heart murmurs at so harsh a tone. So sunk in tears it lies, so gone in grief, With its own blood 'twould venture, far more lief, Than underprize one drop of sorrow's own Or grudge one hour of mournful idleness. To idle time indeed--to moan our moan And then go shivering from a folded gate, Broken in heart and life, exheredate Of all we loved: yet some, from dire distress, Accounting tears no loss and grief no crime, Have gleaned up gold and made their walk sublime. So he, poor wanderer in steps like theirs, May find his griefs, though it must be with tears, Gold grit and grail, washed from the sands of time. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HERMES OF THE WAYS by HILDA DOOLITTLE SONG OF THE CHATTAHOOCHEE by SIDNEY LANIER COLUMBUS [JANUARY, 1487] by LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY SONNET: POET TO POET by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON ECHOES OF SPRING: 7 by MATHILDE BLIND TRITON ESURIENS by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN SONG: CONQUEST BY FLIGHT by THOMAS CAREW |