AN OLD-WORLD THICKET.
389
Sweetness of beauty moved me to despair, Stung me to anger by its mere content, Made me all lonely on that way I went, Piled care upon my care,Brimmed full my cup, and stripped me empty and bare:
For all that was but showed what all was not, But gave clear proof of what might never be; Making more destitute my poverty, And yet more blank my lot, And me much sadder by its jubilee.
Therefore I sat me down: for wherefore walk? And closed mine eyes: for wherefore see or hear? Alas, I had no shutter to mine ear, And could not shun the talk Of all rejoicing creatures far or near.
Without my will I hearkened and I heard (Asleep or waking, for I know not which), Till note by note the music changed its pitch; Bird ceased to answer bird,And every wind sighed softly if it stirred.
The drip of widening waters seemed to weep, All fountains sobbed and gurgled as they sprang,Somewhere a cataract cried out in its leap Sheer down a headlong steep; High over all cloud-thunders gave a clang.
