'Tis not alone that black and yawning void That makes her heart ache with this hungry pain, But the glad sense of life hath been destroyed, The lost delight may never come again. Yet myriad serious blessings with grave grace Arise on every side to fill their place. For much abides in her so lonely life, -- The dear companionship of her own kind, Love where least looked for, quiet after strife, Whispers of promise upon every wind, And quickened insight, in awakened eyes, For the new meaning of the earth and skies. The nameless charm about all things hath died, Subtle as aureole round a shadow's head, Cast on the dewy grass at morning-tide; Yet though the glory and the joy be fled, 'Tis much her own endurance to have weighed, And wrestled with God's angels, unafraid. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG AT THE FEAST OF BROUGHAM CASTLE; UPON RSTORATION OF LORD CLIFFORD by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH HOARFROST by STELLA PFEIFFER BAISCH MID-OCEAN by WILLIAM ROSE BENET PSALM 47 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE A WINTER LANDSCAPE by MATHILDE BLIND TRENCH RAID NEAR HOOGE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 24, ASKING FOR HER HEART (2) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |