DETACHED
Time's luscious fruits have riped o'erlate For my heart to appreciate,And things I once craved, hungrily, Have tasteless since, become to me.Tasteless, not bitter,—glad am I, My heart, unfretted by delaySees others' ever close supply, Nor mourns its own void Yesterday.
I craved, so much, the boon of friends— For just one heart to understand;But now, when one his own extends, He clasps, perhaps, a stronger hand.I asked in vain one sip of wine— Unmixed—from Youth's capacious cup;Ungiven then, should I repine, Who drink the cellared stores of Hope?
Unenvyingly, today, I look On others surfeited with joys,With heart a-smile, as one forsook Of all—save that which never cloys!I see friends lovingly entwine Each other's hearts, confidingly;—Desire stirs not this heart of mine,— God's peace is closer still, to me.
'Tis not that I have callous grown, But only that,—so long denied,—With things I ne'er could call my own My longings are unoccupied.Unparched by Life's fierce fev'rishness; Undazed by its delirium;My heart regards with restfulness, The present; past and the to come.
Denial's hands have made the room For richer blessings else unsent,Amid the which, in Autumn bloom, The fadeless flower of Content.Yet as I watch the falling years— Like leaves from unresisting tree—I do rejoice, as Heaven nears, God holds that—through the night—for me!