This soul of mine was never made For glad or peaceful life, But cast in rude, imperfect mould, For bitterness and strife.
I never was a careless child, For in my early years The founts within were gathering, Of anguish and of tears:
And when I looked upon the stars In all their golden sheen, The presage of a broken heart— It always came between.
And then the Voice of Song awoke Within my wayward soul, And bade the wearing tide of thought Forever o’er it roll.
And dreams of words that should go forth To bless and elevate, Ambition’s charmed and serpent lure, The passion to create;
Were mingled in my spirit’s depths, Till with displacing power Came Love with gorgeous diadem, The phantom of an hour!
And soon the mockeries of Hope Fled smiling from my breast, And left a dark and fearful curse, The cravings of unrest.
And Life became a weary load, And Nature’s face a pall, And each red drop that passed my heart Was turned to seething gall.
From day to day the lyre within Waxed passionate and frail; It trembled at the zephyr’s breath, How could it brook the gale?
Now Death has o’er my pillow bent, I’ve seen his glancing eye, And watched the silvery gleaming of His pinion passing by.
Go bring me back my harp again! I feel a strength for prayer, And o’er the shattered chords within Creeps an unearthly air.
Go bring me back my harp again, I may not now restore The sounding strings I loved so well, Or tune it as before;
But I would lay my hand upon The trembling chords and riven; I feel mine own are healing fast Beneath the eye of Heaven.
Had I but waited patient in the cell Where great Apollo erst became divine, One bard might call himself a Florentine, Like those who once in other lands did dwell. But here the holy ichor doth not swell, And fate hath willed another lot be mine. ’Tis meet that I relinquish high design And drink the waters of life’s turbid well. Sear are the olive branches now, the stream Near which they grew and looked toward the sky Hath sunken deep beneath the rock again. Fate or my fault hath aye dispelled the dream That made me fix my early hopes so high, Unless God will their height I should attain.
He saw her, at a nearer view, A spirit, yet a woman too. WORDSWORTH.