But what matter all things seen, to the eye that makes me behold them? And the life I hold, if I yield it not, and all that is strange to me, And all that is other than Thyself, And this death beside Thy Life that we call my life! I am worn with vanity. Behold how I submit to vanity without desire. Wherefore do I look without pleasure on Thy works! Tell me no more of the rose! No fruit retaineth its savour. What is the death that Thou hast spared me beside the Truth of Thy Presence And the indestructible void that I am With which I must uphold Thee? O weariness of days! I can endure no longer, I am as one who leans his hand against the wail. Day follows after day, and behold, the hour when the sun stays in its course! Here is the harshness of winter, the affrights and the shocks of immobility, Here is inexorable cold, here is God singly! In you I am anterior to death! And here too is the new surging of the year. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: THE HILL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE GARDEN by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON FRIENDSHIP; A SONNET by ALFRED TENNYSON ON SENESIS' MUMMY by LEONIE ADAMS TO MRS. AIKIN by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD VERSES TO AN INFANT by BERNARD BARTON |