Some souls there are who love their woes and tears,
Gaining their joy by contrast, but for thee
And me, Beloved, peace is ecstasy.
It was not always so, there was a time
When I would choose the rocky mountain way,
And climb the hills of doubt to find the day.
Fresh effort brought fresh zest, and winter's rime
Chilled not but crowned endeavor, and the heat
Of summer thrilled, and made the pulses beat.
But now I am so weary that I turn
From labor with a shudder, and from pain
As from an enemy; I see no gain
In suffering, and cleansing fires must burn
As keenly as desire, so let me know
Quiet with thee, and twilight's afterglow.
I, who have boasted of my strength and will,
And ventured daring flights, and stood alone
In fearless, flushed defiance, I have grown
Humble, and seek another hand to fill
Life's cup, and other eyes to pierce the skies
Of Wisdom's dear, sad, mighty mysteries.
Ah! I will lie so quiet in thine arms
I will not stir thee; and thy whisperings
Shall teach me patience, and so many things
I have not learned as yet.
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