The Core of Time.
214
Some airy harvest of ideal fruits
Growing on curious trees that never threw
Into earth's homely breast their searching roots,
Or clean, sharp kisses of our sunshine knew.
Growing on curious trees that never threw
Into earth's homely breast their searching roots,
Or clean, sharp kisses of our sunshine knew.
And dreaming thus, with eyes thrown far afield
I miss the sweets that Fate had planned fur me,
And curse the barren days that only yield
Unto my hands their native paucity;
And that rich harvest that I did not heed,
Whose fruits were fitted to my real need
Is vanished, and I have no garnered seed
To face the future with, and I discern
Too late, the nice adjustment of the soul
To its environment, and, weeping, learn
The value of each fragment to the whole;
This is the future that we have to-day,
This is the vision beautiful that now we see,
Each moment, when its husk is stripped away,
Reveals a hidden kernel—Opportunity.
I miss the sweets that Fate had planned fur me,
And curse the barren days that only yield
Unto my hands their native paucity;
And that rich harvest that I did not heed,
Whose fruits were fitted to my real need
Is vanished, and I have no garnered seed
To face the future with, and I discern
Too late, the nice adjustment of the soul
To its environment, and, weeping, learn
The value of each fragment to the whole;
This is the future that we have to-day,
This is the vision beautiful that now we see,
Each moment, when its husk is stripped away,
Reveals a hidden kernel—Opportunity.
