'I AM Joy,' she said; but her voice was low, <br />Too low for laughter; <br />'I am Love '; but her eyes lacked Love's quick glow, <br />And the tear that springs after; <br />'I am Life'; but she seemed too calm, too still, <br />Like one who waits, but forgets to-morrow; <br />Then she took my hand, and I did her will, <br />And knew she was Sorrow. <br /> <br />And she led me on through the world we see, <br />Where smiles are many; <br />Through the fever and stir of life's hot glee <br />That waits never for any; <br />Through the silence of rest when dreams are o'er <br />And stillness is sweeter than hope's best pleasure; <br />Through the peace when nought is to garner more <br />Of Love's plenished treasure. <br /> <br />So at length we twain were the truest pair, <br />More kind than lovers. <br />Then she said 'After blight the boughs are bare, <br />Yet the strong tree recovers; <br />And anew hast thou Life, Love, Joy, at call: <br />Unclasp my hand.' And I clasped, denying; <br />'Thou art best, more strong, more true than all; <br />And after thee dying.'<br /><br />Augusta Davies Webster<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-comrade-2/
