Hélas

To drift with every passion till my soul
Is a stringed lute on which all winds can play,
Is it for this that I have given away
Mine ancient wisdom, and austere control?
Methinks my life is a twice-written scroll
Scrawled over on some boyish holiday
With idle songs for pipe and virelay,
Which do but mar the secret of the whole.

Surely there was a time I might have trod
The sunlit heights, and from life's dissonance
Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God.

Is that time dead?  lo! with a little rod
I did but touch the honey of romance—
And must I lose a soul's inheritance?

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...