THE DREAD BEFORE GREAT JOY by ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON

I

WITHIN, what gracious store
Of pleasures throng:
Rest, beauty, firelit lore,
Love-breathing song.
Why at the open door
Wait you so long?

II

Oh, why delay to touch
The splendid flower?
Why tremble ere we clutch
The perfect hour?
Is it too near, too much,
The certain dower?

III

Beneath the bride's attire
Her heart stands still --
Half-way from porch to choir --
For joy, not ill
(We shiver before fire
As well as chill).

IV

Home-bound, beyond the bar
I heard again,
An exile from afar,
The tide's refrain:
What did the moment mar?
Ah! 't was not pain.

V

Well may the victor shrink
Aghast at Fame
To hear, on Fortune's brink,
His land's acclaim,
That with its great doth link
His own strange name.

VI

We raise the precious bowl --
To sip and sigh:
The starving takes but dole
Lest he may die;
Must, then, the famished soul
Its feast put by?

VII

What if our mortal fear
Were but the dread
Before great joy! How near
Were the loved dead!
Then were the grave more dear
Than bridal bed.

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