Not every thought can find its words, Not all within is known; For minds and hearts have many chords That never yield their tone. Tastes, instincts, feelings, passions, powers, Sleep there, unfelt, unseen; And other lives lie hid in ours— The lives that might have been; Affections whose transforming force Could mould the heart anew; Strong motives that might change the course Of all we think and do. Upon the tall cliff’s cloud-wrapt verge The lonely shepherd stands, And hears the thundering ocean surge That sweeps the far-off strands; And thinks in peace of raging storms Where he will never be— Of life in all its unknown forms In lands beyond the sea. So in our dreams some glimpse appears, Though soon it fades again, How other lands or times or spheres Might make us other men; How half our being lies in trance, Nor joy nor sorrow brings, Unless the hand of circumstance Can touch the latent strings. We know not fully what we are, Still less what we might be; But hear faint voices from the far Dim lands beyond the sea.
Undeveloped Lives
Collection:
1858
Sub Title:
Poems of Sentiment: II. Life
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He planted an oak in his father’s park And a thought in the minds of men, And he bade farewell to his native shore, Which he never will see again. Oh merrily stream the tourist throng To the glow of the Southern sky; A vision of pleasure beckons them on, But he went there to die. The oak...
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Not every thought can find its words, Not all within is known; For minds and hearts have many chords That never yield their tone. Tastes, instincts, feelings, passions, powers, Sleep there, unfelt, unseen; And other lives lie hid in ours— The lives that might have been; Affections whose...