Lo, when we wade the tangled wood, <br />In haste and hurry to be there, <br />Nought seem its leaves and blossoms good, <br />For all that they be fashioned fair. <br /> <br />But looking up, at last we see <br />The glimmer of the open light, <br />From o’er the place where we would be: <br />Then grow the very brambles bright. <br /> <br />So now, amidst our day of strife, <br />With many a matter glad we play, <br />When once we see the light of life <br />Gleam through the tangle of to-day.<br /><br />William Morris<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/drawing-near-the-light/
