Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, WASTED FOUNTAINS, by ANNE CHARLOTTE LYNCH BOTTA



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WASTED FOUNTAINS, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: When the youthful fever of the soul
Last Line: Whereon angels come and go.
Subject(s): Fountains


WHEN the youthful fever of the soul
Is awaken'd in thee first,
And thou go'st like Judah's children forth
To slake the burning thirst,

And when dry and wasted like the springs
Sought by that little band,
Before thee, in life's emptiness,
Life's broken cisterns stand;

When the golden fruits that tempted thee
Turn to ashes on the taste,
And thine early visions fade and pass,
Like the mirage of the waste;

When faith darkens, and hopes vanish
In the shade of coming years,
And the urn thou bear'st is empty,
Or o'erflowing with thy tears;

Though the transient springs have fail'd thee
Though the founts of youth are dried,
Wilt thou among the mouldering stones
In weariness abide?

Wilt thou sit among the ruins,
With all words of love unspoken,
Till the silver cord is loosen'd,
Till the golden bowl is broken?

Up and onward! toward the East
Green oases thou shalt find, --
Streams that rise from higher sources
Than the pools thou leav'st behind.

Life has import more inspiring
Than the fancies of thy youth;
It has hopes as high as Heaven,
It has labour, it has truth.

It has wrongs that may be righted,
Noble deeds that may be done;
Its great battles are unfought,
Its great triumphs are unwon.

There is rising from its troubled deeps
A low, unceasing moan;
There are aching, there are breaking,
Other hearts besides thine own.

From strong limbs that should be chainless,
There are fetters to unbind;
There are words to raise the fallen,
There is light to give the blind.

There are crush'd and broken spirits,
That electric thoughts may thrill;
Lofty dreams to be embodied
By the might of one strong will.

There are God and Heaven above thee,
Wilt thou languish in despair?
Tread thy griefs beneath thy feet,
Scale the walls of Heaven by prayer.

'T is the key of the Apostle
That will open Heaven below;
'T is the ladder of the Patriarch,
Whereon angels come and go.





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