Who has not wanted, does not guess <br />What plenty is.--Who has not groped <br />In depths of doubt and hopelessness, <br />Has never truly hoped.-- <br />Unless, sometimes, a shaow falls <br />Upon his mirth, and veils his sight, <br />And from the darkness drifts the light <br />Of love at intervals. <br /> <br />And that most dear of everything, <br />I hold, is love; and who can sit <br />With lightest heart and laugh and sing, <br />Knows not the worth of it.-- <br />Unless, in some strange throng, perchance, <br />He feels how thrilling sweet it is, <br />One yearning look that answers his -- <br />The troth of glance and glance. <br /> <br />Who knows not pain, knows not, alas! <br />What pleasure is.--Who knows not of <br />The bitter cup that will not pass, <br />Knows not the taste of love. <br />O souls that thirst, and hearts that fast, <br />And natures faint with famishing, <br />God lift and lead and safely bring <br />You to your own at last!<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/unless/
