Yet life is not a vision nor a prayer, But stubborn work; she may not shun her task. After the first compassion, none will spare Her portion and her work achieved, to ask. She pleads for respite,—she will come ere long When, resting by the roadside, she is strong. Nay, for the hurrying throng of passers-by Will crush her with their onward-rolling stream. Much must be done before the brief light die; She may not loiter, rapt in the vain dream. With unused trembling hands, and faltering feet, She staggers forth, her lot assigned to meet. But when she fills her days with duties done, Strange vigor comes, she is restored to health. New aims, new interests rise with each new sun, And life still holds for her unbounded wealth. All that seemed hard and toilsome now proves small, And naught may daunt her,—she hath strength for all.
This poem is in the public domain.
|Jun 03, 2014||The Pink Crosses||Amanda Auchter|
|Jun 02, 2014||Verge||Mark Doty|
|Jun 01, 2014||From the Telephone||Florence Ripley Mastin|
|May 31, 2014||My 71st Year||Walt Whitman|
|May 30, 2014||Recognitions||Rachel Hadas|
|May 29, 2014||Still I Rise||Maya Angelou|
|May 28, 2014||real poem (personal statement)||Rachel Zucker|
|May 27, 2014||Lie||Rae Armantrout|
|May 26, 2014||Were They Hands Would They Flower||Rob Schlegel|
|May 25, 2014||To Sylvia, To Wed||Robert Herrick|