All hope, child, is a reed. God weaves the hours in his loom; About the fatal arms they speed— The thread breaks, and our joy is doom. The cradle's seed Ripens, a tomb. The future once bore flowers bright For my startled soul to cull: Flowers that gladdened dark with light; Heaven, and the starglow; ocean, and the gull ... But now the sight Is dull. If, near by, someone weeps who smiled, Wonder not whence his dole. Sweet is sorrow, sorrow mild On whom Fate's heaving billows roll. ... Every tear, child, Laves a soul. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON BEING ASKED TO WRITE A POEM AGAINST THE WAR IN VIETNAM by HAYDEN CARRUTH UNTITLED, 1968; FOR MARK ROTHKO by JAMES GALVIN INTERRACIAL by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON OMNIPRESENCE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE GIFT TO SING by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON TO MY CLASS: ON CERTAIN FRUITS AND FLOWERS SENT ... SICKNESS by SIDNEY LANIER |