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THE NURSERY.
How naughty children cried.—And told of hoary castlesBy giant warders kept,Of deep and breathless forestsWhere trancéd beauties slept;Weaving in rainbow madnessThe cloud upon her brain,Till they forgot her weeping,And she forgot her pain.
'Twere well to pour the soul outIn one convulsive fit,And rend the heart with weeping,It Love were loosed from it.But all the secret sorrowThat underlies our lives,Must wait the true solutionThe great progression gives.
Those griefs so widely gathered,Those deep, abyssmal chords,Broken by wailing musicToo passionate for words,Find gentle reconcilementIn some serener breast,And touch with deeper pathosIts symphonies of rest.
