Hope
Ah me! what battles I have fought!
I would I knew the rune that lays
The swarming shades of weary days
That take the lonely House of Thought!
A restless rabble, unsubdued;
A wild and haggard multitude;
Distorted shapes that spring from tears,
And torments born of wedded fears.
Sometimes, amid the changing rout,
A rainbowed figure glides about,
And from her brightness, like the day,
The whimpling shadows slink away.
I know that lyre of seven strings;
The seven colors of her wings;
The seven blossoms of her crown; -
There violets twine for amethyst;
Small lilies white as silk-weed down;
There myrtle sprays her locks have kissed;
And pansies that are beryl blue;
And varied roses, rich of hue;
With iridescent loving eyes
Of buds that bloom in Paradise.
Come often, thou eternal child!
New-string thy lyre and sing to me.
Thy voice ecstatic, fresh and wild,
Enthralls each dark-browed phantasy.
Beyond the walls she bids me peer
To see a Future, dim and dear;
Sweet faces shining through the mist
Like children waiting to be kissed;
lovely land that knows not pain;
Atlantis land beyond Life's main,
Where we who love may love again -
Ah me! is this beyond the plan
Of God's beneficence to man?
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