Here I make oath-- <br />Although the heart that knows its bitterness <br />Hear loath, <br />And credit less-- <br />That he who kens to meet Pain's kisses fierce <br />Which hiss against his tears, <br />Dread, loss, nor love frustrate, <br />Nor all iniquity of the froward years <br />Shall his inur-ed wing make idly bate, <br />Nor of the appointed quarry his staunch sight <br />To lose observance quite; <br />Seal from half-sad and all-elate <br />Sagacious eyes <br />Ultimate Paradise; <br />Nor shake his certitude of haughty fate. <br /> <br />Pacing the burning shares of many dooms, <br />I with stern tread do the clear-witting stars <br />To judgment cite, <br />If I have borne aright <br />The proving of their pure-willed ordeal. <br />From food of all delight <br />The heavenly Falconer my heart debars, <br />And tames with fearful glooms <br />The haggard to His call; <br />Yet sometimes comes a hand, sometimes a voice withal, <br />And she sits meek now, and expects the light. <br /> <br />In this Avernian sky, <br />This sultry and incumbent canopy <br />Of dull and doomed regret; <br />Where on the unseen verges yet, O yet, <br />At intervals, <br />Trembles, and falls, <br />Faint lightning of remembered transient sweet-- <br />Ah, far too sweet <br />But to be sweet a little, a little sweet, and fleet; <br />Leaving this pallid trace, <br />This loitering and most fitful light a space, <br />Still some sad space, <br />For Grief to see her own poor face:- <br /> <br />Here where I keep my stand <br />With all o'er-anguished feet, <br />And no live comfort near on any hand; <br />Lo, I proclaim the unavoided term, <br />When this morass of tears, then drained and firm, <br />Shall be a land-- <br />Unshaken I affirm-- <br />Where seven-quired psalterings meet; <br />And all the gods move with calm hand in hand, <br />And eyes that know not trouble and the worm.<br /><br />Francis Thompson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/by-reason-of-thy-law/
