At such a time indeed of youth's first morn, <br />There is a heaving of the soul in pain, <br />A mighty labour as of joys unborn, <br />Which grieves it and disquiets it in vain. <br />The soul is scared at her own lack of peace, <br />Her cradle song is mute, and she has fled <br />From her old life as to a wilderness. <br />She finds herself awake and without bread. <br />'Tis then the body, her new counsellor, <br />Speaks in her ear, and still with eloquence <br />Pleads for more action, and his voice to her <br />Is sweet with love, and sadly she consents. <br />There is a day of youth which needs must come <br />When each must learn his life and leave his home.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/esther-a-sonnet-sequence-xxvii/
