And I have thought of youth which strains
Nearer its God to rise,—
What were ambition and its pains
Were life a cowardice!
The grander souls that rose above
Thought's noblest heights to tread,
Found their endeavor in their love,
And truth behind the dead.
A secret glory in the tomb,
A night that dawns in light,
An intense presence veiled with gloom,
And not an endless night....
Nepenthe of this struggling world,
Thou who dost stay mad Care
When her fury's scourge above is curled
And we see her writhing hair!