Of fret, of dark, of thorn, of chill, <br /> Complain no more; for these, O heart, <br />Direct the random of the will <br /> As rhymes direct the rage of art. <br /> <br />The lute's fixt fret, that runs athwart <br /> The strain and purpose of the string, <br />For governance and nice consort <br /> Doth bar his wilful wavering. <br /> <br />The dark hath many dear avails; <br /> The dark distils divinest dews; <br />The dark is rich with nightingales, <br /> With dreams, and with the heavenly Muse. <br /> <br />Bleeding with thorns of petty strife, <br /> I'll ease (as lovers do) my smart <br />With sonnets to my lady Life <br /> Writ red in issues from the heart. <br /> <br />What grace may lie within the chill <br /> Of favor frozen fast in scorn! <br />When Good's a-freeze, we call it Ill! <br /> This rosy Time is glacier-born. <br /> <br />Of fret, of dark, of thorn, of chill, <br /> Complain thou not, O heart; for these <br />Bank-in the current of the will <br /> To uses, arts, and charities.<br /><br />Sidney Lanier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/opposition/
