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Classic and Contemporary Poetry


BIEN-ETGRE by EDITH MATILDA THOMAS

First Line: IT COMES AT WILL, BUT NOT MY WILL
Last Line: O JOY-WITH-PEACE, IN WHOSE UNFATHOMED DEPTH I LIE!

@3IT COMES at will, but not my will --
A moment of well-being:
From boding fear and bonding ill
There is a perfect freeing.@1

No inmost bough in windless woods,
No sylvan lake unbrushed by swallow,
No dewdrop where old shadow broods
And wasting noonday cannot follow, --
Could have of utter peace
Such an unbroken lease
As, at this moment, I --
So deep in peace I do not ask, or reason, why.

No hearkener to the chorded shell
That brought the Appollonian vision,
Nor saint whose prayer-encompassed cell
Gave, suddenly, on space elysian, --
Has been so wholly blest,
Of mortal so divest,
As, at this moment, I --
It is as one, if I should live, if I should die!

No pilgrim when the Mecca-goal
Unveiled to his rapt eyes and eager,
No lover whose keen-watching soul
At last saw ended Love's long leaguer, --
Knew rapture more supreme,
(Lord of his dearest dream)
Than, at this moment, I --
O Joy-with-Peace, in whose unfathomed depth I lie!



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