WHEREFORE to-night so full of care, My soul, revolving hopeless strife, Pointing at hindrance, and the bare Painful escapes of fitful life? Shaping the doom that may befall By precedent of terror past: By love dishonoured, and the call Of friendship slighted at the last? By treasured names, the little store That memory out of wreck could save Of loving hearts, that gone before Call their old comrade to the grave? O soul be patient: thou shalt find A little matter mend all this; Some strain of music to thy mind, Some praise for skill not spent amiss. Again shall pleasure overflow Thy cup with sweetness, thou shalt taste Nothing but sweetness, and shalt grow Half sad for sweetness run to waste. O happy life! I hear thee sing, O rare delight of mortal stuff! I praise my days for all they bring, Yet are they only not enough. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON TALK OF PEACE AT THIS TIME by ROBERT FROST SYMPATHY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON GIANT RED WOMAN by CLARENCE MAJOR TO DISRAELI ON CONSERVATISM by MARIANNE MOORE A PROBLEM IN AESTHETICS by KAREN SWENSON TREES by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS FREDERICKSBURG by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH WRITTEN FOR MY SON, AND SPOKEN BY HIM AT HIS FIRST PUTTING ON BREECHES by MARY BARBER |