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The after-glow of vanished fears,
And all the excellent surprise
That trembles in a woman's eyes:
And all the excellent surprise
That trembles in a woman's eyes:
Men, women, children: speech and song:
The artist's touch, the poet's thought:
The pulses of a busy throng,
The rest of spirits over-wrought:
Are these—is all beside them, naught?
The artist's touch, the poet's thought:
The pulses of a busy throng,
The rest of spirits over-wrought:
Are these—is all beside them, naught?
Here, everywhere, and every day,
The seeker finds right human stuff:
To laugh, to weep, to work, to play;
Are joy and sorrow not enough?
And cannot these content thee, Clough?
The seeker finds right human stuff:
To laugh, to weep, to work, to play;
Are joy and sorrow not enough?
And cannot these content thee, Clough?
