Weariness.

This April sun has wakened into cheer         The wintry paths of thought, and tinged with gold         These threadbare leaves of fancy brown and old.     This is for us the wakening of the year         And May's sweet breath will draw the waiting soul         To where in distance lies the longed-for goal.     The summer life will still all questioning,         The leaves will whisper peace, and calm will be         The wild, vast, blue, illimitable sea.     And we shall hush our murmurings, and bring         To Nature, green below and blue above,         A whole life's worshipping, a whole life's love.     We will not speak of sometime fretting fears,         We will not think of aught that may arise         In future hours to cloud our golden skies.     Some souls there are who love their woes and tears,         Gaining their joy by contrast, but for thee         And me, Beloved, peace is ecstasy.     It was not always so, there was a time         When I would choose the rocky mountain way,         And climb the hills of doubt to find the day.     Fresh effort brought fresh zest, and winter's rime         Chilled not but crowned endeavor, and the heat         Of summer thrilled, and made the pulses beat.     But now I am so weary that I turn         From labor with a shudder, and from pain         As from an enemy; I see no gain     In suffering, and cleansing fires must burn         As keenly as desire, so let me know         Quiet with thee, and twilight's afterglow.     I, who have boasted of my strength and will,         And ventured daring flights, and stood alone         In fearless, flushed defiance, I have grown     Humble, and seek another hand to fill         Life's cup, and other eyes to pierce the skies         Of Wisdom's dear, sad, mighty mysteries.     Ah! I will lie so quiet in thine arms         I will not stir thee; and thy whisperings         Shall teach me patience, and so many things     I have not learned as yet. And all alarms         Will melt in peace when, safe from tempest's rage         My wind-tossed ship has found its anchorage.