Poems (Storrie)/Compensation
For works with similar titles, see Compensation.
Compensation.
Cold too cold doth burn like fire, Sweets too sweet become our bane, Truth too true is half a liar, Joy too great turns into pain.
Lights intensely light but blind us, Eloquent deep silence grows, Every good that life can find us At its zenith zero shows.
Yet this law hath compensation That the dreaming spirit feels, Who can gauge the exaltation Pain superlative reveals?
Souls are harps where master fingers Music find in every string, Harmony, half silent, lingers Till her sadness makes her sing.
Then her melting cry will thrill you With the pathos of its tone, Then entrance your ear, until you Sorrow's inspiration own.
Strange and subtle, to reveal it, Words are poor and harsh and brief Only such as know and feel it Can believe the joy of grief.