Poems by Fanny Kemble Part 13

SONNET.

But to be still! oh, but to cease awhile The panting breath and hurrying steps of life, The sights, the sounds, the struggle, and the strife Of hourly being; the sharp biting file Of action, fretting on the tightened chain Of rough existence; all that is not pain, But utter weariness; oh! to be free But for a while from conscious ent.i.ty!

To shut the banging doors and windows wide, Of restless sense, and let the soul abide Darkly and stilly, for a little s.p.a.ce, Gathering its strength up to pursue the race; Oh, Heavens! to rest a moment, but to rest From this quick, gasping life, were to be blest!

SONNET.

Art thou already weary of the way?

Thou who hast yet but half the way gone o'er: Get up, and lift thy burthen: lo, before Thy feet the road goes stretching far away.

If thou already faint, who hast but come Through half thy pilgrimage, with fellows gay, Love, youth, and hope, under the rosy bloom And temperate airs, of early breaking day; Look yonder, how the heavens stoop and gloom, There cease the trees to shade, the flowers to spring, And the angels leave thee; what wilt thou become Through yon drear stretch of dismal wandering, Lonely and dark? I shall take courage, friend, For comes not every step more near the end?

London: STEWART and MURRAY, Old Bailey.