Poems (Hinxman)/Separation
For works with similar titles, see Separation.
SEPARATION.
As one that on some feat of strength intent,Pausing, throws back his frame, holds in his breath,And in such self-retraction seeks new forceFor yet more strenuous effort,—so my heart,Struggling with absence, distance, and with fate,Will ofttimes gather in its swarming troopOf thoughts and yearnings, holding them in poiseSuspended, if that haply from the leashThey with fresh impulse bounding forth may winSome vantage o'er its sorrow,—may achieveSome inner intercourse, some touch of soulWith that beloved one who claims them all. Alas! how many, since the woods and fieldsFirst saw the secret tears of suffering love,How many, with such arts, such aims, such hopes,Born of despair, have wrestled with their love!And has it all been fruitless? Must we thinkThat all this strain and stress of constant loveDies down into the past with selfish joys,And narrow cares; with Nature's mists and hues,With all the things that were not while they seemed?O, lives not thence some record, somewhere stamped?Works there not thence some power on time? or doesThe faithful bosom of EternityFoster from this strong seed some far result?
April, 1851.