| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
the house: of mourning. 215 |
||
|
The days could somehow drag themselves,
Like wounded worms along : But I know not how we lived those nights,
Save that God made us strong. |
||
|
And somehow all things turned to fears;
And foolish things became Fountains of unrefresiling tears
Which burned the eyes like flame.
Oh what a life it was, a life
Of such entangled woe, Like the panic of a shipwrecked crew, —
Only this was so slow : —
Entangled with minute details,
Needful, but out of season, Yet a woe of such simplicity
As almost troubled reason.
God shut us up there seven long weeks,
As in some unworldly ark, — And we learned what He had meant us learn,-
To live and to see in the dark.
Darkness is easier far to bear
Than that unrestful gloom Where the light snows in, and vaguely haunts
The shapes and the things in the room. |
||