WE take from life one little share, <br /> And say that this shall be <br />A space, redeemed from toil and care, <br /> From tears and sadness free. <br /> <br />And, haply, Death unstrings his bow <br /> And Sorrow stands apart, <br />And, for a little while, we know <br /> The sunshine of the heart. <br /> <br />Existence seems a summer eve, <br /> Warm, soft, and full of peace; <br />Our free, unfettered feelings give <br /> The soul its full release. <br /> <br />A moment, then, it takes the power, <br /> To call up thoughts that throw <br />Around that charmed and hallowed hour, <br /> This life's divinest glow. <br /> <br />But Time, though viewlessly it flies, <br /> And slowly, will not stay; <br />Alike, through clear and clouded skies, <br /> It cleaves its silent way. <br /> <br />Alike the bitter cup of grief, <br /> Alike the draught of bliss, <br />Its progress leaves but moment brief <br /> For baffled lips to kiss. <br /> <br />The sparkling draught is dried away, <br /> The hour of rest is gone, <br />And urgent voices, round us, say, <br /> ' Ho, lingerer, hasten on !' <br /> <br />And has the soul, then, only gained, <br /> From this brief time of ease, <br />A moment's rest, when overstrained, <br /> One hurried glimpse of peace ? <br /> <br />No; while the sun shone kindly o'er us, <br /> And flowers bloomed round our feet, <br />While many a bud of joy before us <br /> Unclosed its petals sweet, <br /> <br />An unseen work within was plying; <br /> Like honey-seeking bee, <br />From flower to flower, unwearied, flying, <br /> Laboured one faculty, <br /> <br />Thoughtful for Winter's future sorrow, <br /> Its gloom and scarcity; <br />Prescient to-day, of want to-morrow, <br /> Toiled quiet Memory. <br /> <br />'Tis she that from each transient pleasure <br /> Extracts a lasting good; <br />'Tis she that finds, in summer, treasure <br /> To serve for winter's food. <br /> <br />And when Youth's summer day is vanished, <br /> And Age brings Winter's stress, <br />Her stores, with hoarded sweets replenished, <br /> Life's evening hours will bless.<br /><br />Charlotte Brontë<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/winter-stores/
