Heart said, ‘If I had wings,
Such wings as hath the lark,
Even as that freedom sings
Beyond the dark,
I too, if I could fly
From chains that weigh and cling
Ah, but then I could sing,—
Could I!
‘O dayspring of desire!
Mid-ocean of delight
Before the dawn of fire
On dawn of sight!
My joy, could it undo
All that despair has done,
I could find out the Sun,
—I too.’
But ah, how vain to long
For glory of the lark,
Who hast more need of song
Down in thy dark;
Where chains may always irk,
And every day’s rebuff
Leave thee scarce breath enough,
To work!
Nay, never to assuage
Our need, is joy begun,
But follows some poor wage
Full hardly won.
Never vain wish shall bring
The music from the dumb.
Needs must—ere song will come—
We sing!
To him who hath, late, soon,
To him shall it be given.
Make to thyself some boon,
Some little heaven:
Some feigning, through that mirk,
The blue of upper skies;
And sing—with blindfold eyes—
At work!