How long, how long? When troubles come of God,
When men are frozen out of work, when' wives
Are sick, when working fathers fail and die,
When boats go down at sea-then naught behooves
Like patience; but for troubles wrought of men
Patience is hard-I tell you it is hard.
The restless birth of love my soul opprest;
I longed and wrestled for a tranquil day,
And warred with that disquiet in my breast
As one who knows there is a better way;
But, turned against myself, I still in vain
Looked for the ancient calm to come again.
My tired soul could to itself confess
That she deserved a wiser love than mine; To love more truly were to love her less, And for this truth I still awoke to pine:
I had a dim belief that it would be
A better thing for her, a blessèd thing for me.
-The Four Bridges.
Night after night, night after desolate night, Day after day, day after tedious day, Stands by his fire, and dulls its gleamy light, Paceth behind or meets him in the way;