Classic Poem

" It is enough, enough, " one said,
At play among the flowers:
" I spy a rose upon the thorn,
A rainbow in the showers;
I hear a merry chime of bells
Ring out the passing hours. " —
Soft springs the fountain
From the daisied ground:
Softly falling on the moss
Without a sound.

" It is enough, " she said, and fixed
Calm eyes upon the sky:
" I watch a flitting tender cloud
Just like a dove go by;
A lark is rising from the grass;
A wren is building nigh. " —
Softly the fountain
Threads its silver way,
Screened by the scented bloom
Of whitest may.

" Enough? " she whispered to herself,
As doubting: " Is it so?
Enough to wear the roses fair?
Oh sweetest flowers that blow: —
Oh yes, it surely is enough,
My happy home below. " —
A shadow stretcheth
From the hither shore:
Those waters darken
More and more and more.

" It is enough, " she says; but with
A listless, weary moan:
" Enough, " if mixing with her friends;
" Enough, " if left alone.
But to herself: " Not yet enough,
This suffering, to atone? " —
The cold black waters
Seem to stagnate there;
Without a single wave,
Or breath of air.

And now she says: " It is enough, "
Half languid and half stirred:
" Enough, " to silence and to sound,
Thorn, blossom, soaring bird:
" Enough, " she says; but with a lack
Of something in the word. —
Defiled and turbid
See the waters pass;
Half light, half shadow,
Struggling thro' the grass.

Ah, will it ever dawn, that day
When calm for good or ill
Her heart shall say: " It is enough,
For Thou art with me still;
It is enough, O Lord my God,
Thine only blessed Will. " —
Then shall the fountain sing
And flow to rest;
Clear as the sun track
To the purple West.