My Conforter

Well hast thou spoken, and yet not taught

A feeling strange or new;

Thou hast but roused a latent thought,

A cloud-closed beam of sunshine brought

To gleam in open view.

Deep down, concealed within my soul,

That light lies hid from men;

Yet glows unquenched—though shadows roll,

Its gentle ray cannot control—

About the sullen den.

Was I not vexed, in these gloomy ways

To walk alone so long?

Around me, wretches uttering praise,

Or howling o'er their hopeless days,

And each with Frenzy's tongue;—

A brotherhood of misery,

Their smiles as sad as sighs;

Whose madness daily maddened me,

Distorting into agony

The bliss before my eyes!

So stood I, in Heaven's glorious sun,

And in the glare of Hell;

My spirit drank a mingled tone,

Of seraph's song, and demon's moan;

What my soul bore, my soul alone

Within itself may tell!

Like a soft, air above a sea,

Tossed by the tempest's stir;

A thaw-wind, melting quietly

The snow-drift on some wintry lea;

No: what sweet thing resembles thee,

My thoughtful Comforter?

And yet a little longer speak,

Calm this resentful mood;

And while the savage heart grows meek,

For other token do not seek,

But let the tear upon my cheek

Evince my gratitude!