Poems (Blake)/Longing
For works with similar titles, see Longing.
LONGING!
We who walk the common pathway Of this lower world of ours,Sometimes live in double seeming, Plucking thorns and flowers.
Sometimes know a dual being,— Moments full of passion gleam,When the hurrying crowd beside us Fades as in a dream;
And the slumbering soul within us Wakes to an unwonted glow,Thrilling as the springtime blossoms Under winter's snow.
Though they call us prince or peasant, Silken robed or hodden gray,Equal stand we in the presence Of that inner day.
And we rise in might triumphant, Burning with a high desire, As on old heroic altars Flamed the sacred fire.
Longing for the crash of battle, When amid the weaponed dinSturdy spirits enter freely Glorious meed to win.
Longing for the good beyond us, For a glimpse of Him who waitsThroned within the shining city And the radiant gates.
Longing Is it only longing? Are the thoughts that come and goStill to die like summer blossoms Under winter's snow?
Are they only idle fancies, Falsely fair to rise and shine,Or, indeed, the blessed gleaming Of a spark divine?
Who shall tell us through the silence, Though we ask with longing fond,Till we pass and find our answers Waiting us beyond!