Classic Poem

She flung her white arms round him. — " Thou art all,
That this poor heart can cling to: yet I feel
That I am rich in blessings; and the tear
Of this most bitter moment still is mingled
With a strange joy. Reposing on thy heart,
I hear the blasts of fortune sweeping by,
As a babe lists to music, — wondering,
But not affrighted. In the darkest hour
Thy smile is brightest; and when I am wretched
Then am I most belov'd. In hours like this
The soul's resources rise, and all its strength
Bounds into being. — I would rather live
With all my faculties thus waken'd round me,
Of hopes, and fears, and joys, and sympathies,
A few short moments, ev'n with every feeling
Smarting from fate's deep lash, — than a long age,
However calm and free from turbulence,
Bereft of these most high capacities.
Not vainly have I nurs'd them; for there is
An impulse ev'n in suffering; and so pure
Rise the eternal hopes, call'd by the anguish
Of a world-wearied spirit; with such light
They rush before me, like a sunny ray,
Piercing the dark shades of my clouded thoughts,
That for such high and holy consolations,
I welcome misery; and I know thy heart
Hath the same blessed anchor. In heaven-ward hopes
We drank the cup of youthful happiness;
And now, when sorrow shades our early promise,
In heaven-ward trust we comfort one another. "

She flung her white arms round him. — " Thou art all,
That this poor heart can cling to: yet I feel
That I am rich in blessings; and the tear
Of this most bitter moment still is mingled
With a strange joy. Reposing on thy heart,
I hear the blasts of fortune sweeping by,
As a babe lists to music, — wondering,
But not affrighted. In the darkest hour
Thy smile is brightest; and when I am wretched
Then am I most belov'd. In hours like this
The soul's resources rise, and all its strength
Bounds into being. — I would rather live
With all my faculties thus waken'd round me,
Of hopes, and fears, and joys, and sympathies,
A few short moments, ev'n with every feeling
Smarting from fate's deep lash, — than a long age,
However calm and free from turbulence,
Bereft of these most high capacities.
Not vainly have I nurs'd them; for there is
An impulse ev'n in suffering; and so pure
Rise the eternal hopes, call'd by the anguish
Of a world-wearied spirit; with such light
They rush before me, like a sunny ray,
Piercing the dark shades of my clouded thoughts,
That for such high and holy consolations,
I welcome misery; and I know thy heart
Hath the same blessed anchor. In heaven-ward hopes
We drank the cup of youthful happiness;
And now, when sorrow shades our early promise,
In heaven-ward trust we comfort one another. "