My gentle friend! I hold no creed so false <br />As that which dares to teach that we are born <br />For battle only, and that in this life <br />The soul, if it would burn with starlike power, <br />Must needs forsooth be kindled by the sparks <br />Struck from the shock of clashing human hearts. <br />There is a wisdom that grows up in strife, <br />And one -- I like it best -- that sits at home <br />And learns its lessons of a thoughtful ease. <br />So come! a lonely house awaits thee! -- there <br />Nor praise, nor blame shall reach us, save what love <br />Of knowledge for itself shall wake at times <br />In our own bosoms; come! and we will build <br />A wall of quiet thought, and gentle books, <br />Betwixt us and the hard and bitter world. <br />Sometimes -- for we need not be anchorites -- <br />A distant friend shall cheer us through the Post, <br />Or some Gazette -- of course no partisan -- <br />Shall bring us pleasant news of pleasant things; <br />Then, twisted into graceful allumettes, <br />Each ancient joke shall blaze with genuine flame <br />To light our pipes and candles; but to wars, <br />Whether of words or weapons, we shall be <br />Deaf -- so we twain shall pass away the time <br />Ev'n as a pair of happy lovers, who, <br />Alone, within some quiet garden-nook, <br />With a clear night of stars above their heads, <br />Just hear, betwixt their kisses and their talk, <br />The tumult of a tempest rolling through <br />A chain of neighboring mountains; they awhile <br />Pause to admire a flash that only shows <br />The smile upon their faces, but, full soon, <br />Turn with a quick, glad impulse, and perhaps <br />A conscious wile that brings them closer yet, <br />To dally with their own fond hearts, and play <br />With the sweet flowers that blossom at their feet.<br /><br />Henry Timrod<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/retirement-4/
