I will not shut me from my kind, And, lest I stiffen into stone, I will not eat my heart alone, Nor feed with sighs a passing wind: What profit lies in barren faith, And vacant yearning, tho' with might To scale the heaven's highest height, Or dive below the wells of death? What find I in the highest place, But mine own phantom chanting hymns? And on the depths of death there swims The reflex of a human face. I'll rather take what fruit may be Of sorrow under human skies: 'T is held that sorrow makes us wise, Whatever wisdom sleep with thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THEOCRITUS; A VILLANELLE by OSCAR WILDE ADESTE FIDELES by BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX YOUNG CHARLOTTIE by WILLIAM LORENZO CARTER EDMUND CLARENCE STEADMAN by FLORENCE EARLE COATES THE WANDERINGS OF CAIN by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE ELDER BROTHER by GEORGE COLMAN THE YOUNGER |