Sorrow Voices.
295
Sweet, unobtrusive charities of time.
But these are rare. Nine-tenths of all the woes
Petted to death, love-stinted of their growth,
Die pigmies. Is it precious to thy soul?
Make not a tender darling of thy sorrow,
But school it roughly in the ways of life,
Till from a vexing tyrant it shall grow
To be thy chiefest friend and counsellor.
Griefs rightly nurtured die not till they flower;
So keep thy trouble—we have leave to suffer.
But these are rare. Nine-tenths of all the woes
Petted to death, love-stinted of their growth,
Die pigmies. Is it precious to thy soul?
Make not a tender darling of thy sorrow,
But school it roughly in the ways of life,
Till from a vexing tyrant it shall grow
To be thy chiefest friend and counsellor.
Griefs rightly nurtured die not till they flower;
So keep thy trouble—we have leave to suffer.
Thy words are like the braying of the trumpets
To one who bleeds upon a battle field.
There is no heart in me for noble doing.
If the old fiery impulse prompt again,
'Tis but an impulse. Who so wise in sorrow
As they who pay lip service at her shrines?
Who, standing safe beside her awful gulfs,
Guess at their depths, and measure with cold glances
What souls have fathomed! Wouldst thou counsel me?
Let grief expound the meaning of those words
Thou say est so well. Earth with her bars surrounds mp,
To one who bleeds upon a battle field.
There is no heart in me for noble doing.
If the old fiery impulse prompt again,
'Tis but an impulse. Who so wise in sorrow
As they who pay lip service at her shrines?
Who, standing safe beside her awful gulfs,
Guess at their depths, and measure with cold glances
What souls have fathomed! Wouldst thou counsel me?
Let grief expound the meaning of those words
Thou say est so well. Earth with her bars surrounds mp,
