THERE is a time, when all the heart is dumb,
Too tired for dread of ill, or hope of good;
When o’er dull brain and heavy eyelids brood
Shades of dead grief, endured and overcome,
Whose ghostly presence lingering doth benumb
The constant soul, that gazed with hardihood
On living evil: in this twilight mood
Even the sun and wind are wearisome.
Yet is their flickering strife but joy begun;
For e’en the spectral shades grow faintly bright,
Like night-born mist, half kindled by the sun:
Then shut not out the breeze, nor bar the light;
Full noon shall glow for him, who will not shun
Heaven’s dazzling joy-break, though tears cloud his sight.
(Constance Naden)
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Based on Topics: Light Poems, Time Poems, Soul Poems, Sense & Perception Poems, Grief Poems, Good & Evil PoemsBased on Keywords: benumb, hardihood, wearisome, night-born