Yes, gentle Time, thy gradual, healing hand Hath stolen from sorrow's grasp the envenomed dart; Submitting to thy skill, my passive heart Feels that no grief can thy soft power withstand, And though my aching breast still heaves the sigh, Though oft the tear swells silent in mine eye, Yet the keen pang, the agony is gone; Sorrow and I shall part, and these faint throes Are but the remnant of severer woes; As when the furious tempest is o'er blown, And when the sky has wept its violence, The opening heavens will oft let fall a shower, The poor o'ercharged boughs still drops dispense. And still the loaded streams in torrents pour. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE TREES by HAYDEN CARRUTH WHEN THE SPEED COMES by ROBERT FROST WESTERN CIVILIZATION by JAMES GALVIN CREDO by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A REPUBLIC! by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: OAKS TUTT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |