Poem Hunter
(January 9, 1856 – December 17, 1935 / Waverly)


When I consider Life and its few years --
A wisp of fog betwixt us and the sun;
A call to battle, and the battle done
Ere the last echo dies within our ears;
A rose choked in the grass; an hour of fears;
The gusts that past a darkening shore do beat;
The burst of music down an unlistening street, --
I wonder at the idleness of tears.
Ye old, old dead, and ye of yesternight,
Chieftains, and bards, and keepers of the sheep,
By every cup of sorrow that you had,
Loose me from tears, and make me see aright
How each hath back what once he stayed to weep:
Homer his sight, David his little lad!

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Comments (6)

Sooo..beautiful - A wisp of fog betwixt us and the sun; thank u
..........truly these are two of the greatest gifts from God....enjoyed..
I like this obey keep it up hey Liz! ! !
A nice poem on the musings of a life to the poet.
Beautiful. Just honest retrospect. Love it.
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