I WOULD not chronicle my life By dynasties of joy or pain, By reigns of peace or times of strife, By accidents of loss or gain: The Hopes that nurtured in my breast Have been the very wings to me On which existence floats or rests, -- These only shall my eras be. Whether they rose to utmost height And glistened in the noonday sun, Descending with as full delight When all was realised and won; Or whether mercilessly checked By adverse airs and lowering skies, They sunk to earth confused and wrecked Almost before they dared to rise; With equal love I love them all For their own special sakes, nor care What sequence here or there might fall, Each has its sweet memorial share: Let but my Hopes, in coming years, Preserve their long unbroken line, And smiles will shine through any tears, And grief itself be half-divine. For not to man on earth is given The ripe fulfilment of desire; -- Desire of Heaven itself is Heaven, Unless the passion faint and tire: So upward still, from hope to hope, From faith to faith, the soul ascends, And who has scaled the ethereal cope, Where that sublime succession ends? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 21 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE PINES AND THE SEA by CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 3. BY HER AUNT'S GRAVE by THOMAS HARDY AN INTERVIEW WITH MILES STANDISH by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THE VICTOR AT ANTIETAM [SEPTEMBER 17, 1862] by HERMAN MELVILLE IN THIS AGE OF HARD TRYING, NONCHALANCE IS GOOD AND by MARIANNE MOORE |