WHEN all the world has gone awry, And I myself least favour find With my own self, and but to die And leave the whole sad coil behind, Seems but the one and only way; Should I but hear some water falling Through woodland veils in early May, And small bird unto small bird calling -- O then my heart is glad as they. Lifted my load of cares, and fled My ghosts of weakness and despair, And, unafraid, I raise my head And Life to do its utmost dare; Then if in its accustomed place One flower I should chance find blowing, With lovely resurrected face From Autumn's rust and Winter's snowing -- I laugh to think of my disgrace. A simple brook, a simple flower, A simple wood in green array, -- What, Nature, thy mysterious power To bind and heal our mortal clay? What mystic surgery is thine, Whose eyes of us seem all unheeding, That even so sad a heart as mine Laughs at the wounds that late were bleeding? -- Yea! sadder hearts, O Power Divine. I think we are not otherwise Than all the children of thy knee; For so each furred and winged one flies, Wounded, to lay its heart on thee; And, strangely nearer to thy breast, Knows, and yet knows not, of thy healing, Asking but there awhile to rest, With wisdom beyond our revealing -- Knows and yet knows not, and is blest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALL GOATS by ELIZABETH JANE COATSWORTH SALLY SIMKIN'S LAMENT by THOMAS HOOD A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 35 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN THE RIVER-MERCHANT'S WIFE: A LETTER by LI PO STELLA'S BIRTHDAY, 1718 by JONATHAN SWIFT LEFT BEHIND by ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN |