Yea, she hath looked Truth grimly face to face, And drained unto the lees the proffered cup. This silence is not patience, nor the grace Of resignation, meekly offered up, But mere acceptance fraught with keenest pain, Seeing that all her struggles must be vain. Her future dear and terrible outlies, -- This burden to be borne through all her days, This crown of thorns pressed down above her eyes, This weight of trouble she may never raise. No reconcilement doth she ask nor wait; Knowing such things are, she endures her fate. No brave endeavor of the broken will To cling to such poor strays as will abide (Although the waves be wild and angry still) After the lapsing of the swollen tide. No fear of further loss, no hope of gain, Naught but the apathy of weary pain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON ANOTHER'S SORROW, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE WAYS OF TIME by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE FISH, THE MAN, AND THE SPIRIT (COMPLETE) by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT ON SEEING THE ELGIN MARBLES by JOHN KEATS THE MOUNTAIN TOMB: 1. TO A CHILD DANCING IN THE WIND by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |