Our lives, discoloured with our present woes,
May still grow white and shine with happier hours.
So the pure limped stream, when foul with stains
Of rushing torrents and descending rains,
Works itself clear, and as it runs refines,
till by degrees the floating mirror shines;
Reflects each flower that on the border grows,
And a new heaven in it's fair bosom shows.

by Joseph Addison

Comments (20)

A poem tthat Will not grow old.
A wonderful imagery of life itself. Hope is a raft we row in the ocean of life. The rolling and coiling waves are but the vicissitudes of life. Love the comment of Besma Dziri. Nicely said!
An excellent thought provoking poem inculcating hope of a bright tomorrow in the minds of frustrated and depressed people. A grand classical poem.
Toes! ! Present woes! ! ! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Lovely poem. Hope for better tomorrow is never lost in positive minds.
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