FEAR OF BLINDNESS.
A horror, like the darkness of the tomb,Came over me when told,That I might lose the brightness and the bloom,The blessed green and goldOf landscapes, and the circuit of the skies.If doomed such ill to bear,—If never more, indeed, these clouded eyesMay taste their daily fareOf books and beauty’s charm, it were unwiseTo yield me to despair.Twin guides, that from the dawn of life till lateYour lamps for me have borne,If weary of your task you hesitateTo serve me further, wornAnd vexed with slavish toil, demanding restMyself alone I chide,And grateful are the heavings of my breast,For light so long suppliedBy two such faithful friends, abused, opprest,Your rights, poor eyes! denied.My soul, if fails thy hope, with patient browAccept the outer dusk,And trust the inner light that serves thee nowTo pierce the silken huskOf truths that do impart a quiet joy.The self-illumined mindIs not dependent for its best employOn outward things, definedTo outward sense;—let aught this lamp destroy,And I were truly blind.
A horror, like the darkness of the tomb,Came over me when told,That I might lose the brightness and the bloom,The blessed green and goldOf landscapes, and the circuit of the skies.If doomed such ill to bear,—If never more, indeed, these clouded eyesMay taste their daily fareOf books and beauty’s charm, it were unwiseTo yield me to despair.Twin guides, that from the dawn of life till lateYour lamps for me have borne,If weary of your task you hesitateTo serve me further, wornAnd vexed with slavish toil, demanding restMyself alone I chide,And grateful are the heavings of my breast,For light so long suppliedBy two such faithful friends, abused, opprest,Your rights, poor eyes! denied.My soul, if fails thy hope, with patient browAccept the outer dusk,And trust the inner light that serves thee nowTo pierce the silken huskOf truths that do impart a quiet joy.The self-illumined mindIs not dependent for its best employOn outward things, definedTo outward sense;—let aught this lamp destroy,And I were truly blind.
A horror, like the darkness of the tomb,Came over me when told,That I might lose the brightness and the bloom,The blessed green and goldOf landscapes, and the circuit of the skies.If doomed such ill to bear,—If never more, indeed, these clouded eyesMay taste their daily fareOf books and beauty’s charm, it were unwiseTo yield me to despair.
Twin guides, that from the dawn of life till lateYour lamps for me have borne,If weary of your task you hesitateTo serve me further, wornAnd vexed with slavish toil, demanding restMyself alone I chide,And grateful are the heavings of my breast,For light so long suppliedBy two such faithful friends, abused, opprest,Your rights, poor eyes! denied.
My soul, if fails thy hope, with patient browAccept the outer dusk,And trust the inner light that serves thee nowTo pierce the silken huskOf truths that do impart a quiet joy.The self-illumined mindIs not dependent for its best employOn outward things, definedTo outward sense;—let aught this lamp destroy,And I were truly blind.