WHEN from the house where I was nursed Into the outer world I first With doubtful footing went, I saw in a bewildered earth Nor nights of peace nor days of mirth Nor twilights of content. All the unhappiness of youth I knew, and knew it less than truth, And felt beneath me move The quaking ground whereon I trod, Spoiling the towers of every god, And all the doors of love. I saw the blinding tyrants smite Their serving-folk with death or night For avarice or whim; The dancing heavens go lightly by Above the plague pits, huddled high With corpses to the brim. I saw, above all purpose set, The fitful poised Almighty threat Float sadly in the air, Which, though but few it seemed to strike With madness, cancer, and their like, Yet taught to all despair. I knew the last fear—lest there hid In Death's unopened pyramid Only Life's self abhorred: But O amid such darkening gloom What fantasy decreed my doom Beneath a courteous lord? All things I feared—and lo on me The world's accustomed irony, Grown swiftly gracious, smiled: Among the starving I was fed, Into security was led, And guarded from the wild. Yet, for all favours of its past, How should I trust Life's grace to last? Only, the chance of ill More distant and more doubtful runs Afar from me, since all my suns Are blest with your goodwill. And what more joys, what friendships new, Had happily their source in you! As when we left the town, And shy and laughing and amazed To hear myself by strangers praised, We took the road to Downe: As London, my own city, known For a mere torment of great stone By many a wandering wit, Re-risen for me, stood in the void Of my desire, and was enjoyed, For you were part of it. In one same spring your name and hers, The world's and heaven's best messengers, Smote first my careless ears: Who knew not then what springs should build About me, from those names fulfilled, A shelter for my years. Those names fulfilled!—Of the last End, The Mystery that hath for friend All governments of peace, What pious dream hath more of fame Than each admired prophetic name, Sounding it without cease? Faint though I fall in ways of ill, I see the shining glory still In the world's fair employ, Creation marvellously wrought To one sole multitudinous thought, The Day, the Morning Joy. And bitter though within me hate Wars with inexorable Fate, To wreck its rich delight, I know the hinted close of dawn, The quenched activities withdrawn, The Evening Joy, the Night. But her a hundred sonnets praise, And all the friends who tread my ways Have each their share of song; Yet, sir, my world must lack its due Accomplishment, except to you Some period may belong. Poets by generations count Their lives, and sum the full amount In centuries; but I, Whom no kind Muse hath brought to name Within the sanctuary of Fame, Before my death must die. On many a mightier shield than mine Your quartered arms shall they design Who keep the heraldic scrolls Of Art; but though the future paints You in the list of their All Saints, You will not scorn All Souls? Then, maugre what the wise allow, Under your titles be I now Of this small freehold seised; And let me to my doubtful heart Profess a virtue in my art, For you were sometimes pleased. These meditations, since your care Sustains unharmed my household stair, And the peace where they grow, Take, the poor symbols of your due; All verse, and more than verse, to you, With her and God, I owe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUNG SAMMY'S FIRST WILD OATS by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE IDEA OF BALANCE IS TO BE FOUND IN HERONS AND LOONS by JAMES HARRISON ODE ON MELANCHOLY by JOHN KEATS THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE VISION OF SIN by ALFRED TENNYSON YOUTH AND AGE by GEORGE ARNOLD COMPLAINS OF THE COURT by PHILIP AYRES ANOTHER JOURNEY FROM BETHUNE TO CUINCHY by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |