What profits it to me, though here allowed Life, sunlight, leisure, if they fail to urge Me to due motion or myself to merge With the onward stream, too humble, or too proud? That find myself not with the popular surge Washed off and on, or up to higher reefs Flung with the foremost when the rolling crowd Hoists like a wave, nor strong to speak aloud. But standing here, gazing on mine own griefs, Dark household woe, and wounds that bleed and smart, With still lips and an outcry in the heart, Or on from day to day I coldly creep By summer farms and fields, by stream and steep, Dull, and like one exhausted with deep sleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BENEDICTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WITH CHAOS IN EACH KISS by TIMOTHY LIU CHILD OF MY HEART by EDWIN MARKHAM THE WHITE LIGHTS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE VISION by GEORGE SANTAYANA |