This world is so fresh and so beautiful, And so many kind hearts are therein, There is so much of goodness of virtue and truth, To wipe away all of the sin; There are thousands of heart-strings atremble with love, There are thousands of faces all bright. And it seems to me more than a mystery, That everything doesn't go right. Some hearts that are made to be loved and to love— So beautiful, tender and true— Droop away and die off in their loneliness, Like a rosebud bereft of its dew; And others dance onward through Life's brightest dream, As a butterfly flits on the air, And a heart pours its treasure of love at the feet, Which never have felt that 'tis there. And right is too often awarded with pain, And the wrong seems the prosperous through all; And the meanest and weakest are helpt to the last While the brave and noble ones fall; One cherishes not what another would deem A blessing, a comfort, a cheer; There's a tangle of threads in the web of our life, Which no hand can unravel, I fear. I would like to be offered but one single glance Behind all the scenes, as I go; For that there's a meaning, a plot and a plan To the wrong and the tangle, I know; Do rosebuds unfold in that other bright world, Which, here, no sunbeam came near? Do hearts there lay off all their aches and their pain Which were never beloved while here? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY AUNT by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES THE FEMALE GOD by ISAAC ROSENBERG THE NUANCES OF MENDACITY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS ON EDWARD WEBBE, ENGLISH GUNNER by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE MEADOW STREAM by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 11 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |