SAY NOT THE STRUGGLE

quill

Here’s one I fell in love with, tucked away in a small used book I picked up somewhere.  The author sounds like a pretty cool guy, not only because of the hopeful tenor of the poem, but that he was the assistant of one of my heroines, the one and only Florence Nightingale!  (You can’t be all bad if you worked for Flo.)  Here’s my INFO.

 

SAY NOT THE STRUGGLE

by Arthur Hugh Clough (1819-1861)

 

Say not the struggle naught availeth,

    The labour and the wounds are vain

The enemy faints not, nor faileth,

    And as things have been they remain.

 

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;

    It may be, in yon smoke conceal’d,

Your comrades chase e’en now the fliers,

    And, but for you, possess the field.

 

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,

    Seem here no painful inch to gain,

Far back, through creeks and inlets making,

    Comes silent, flooding in, the main.

 

And not by eastern windows only,

    When daylight comes, comes in the light;

In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly!

    But westward, look, the land is bright!

 

A Little Treasury of British Poetry, Ed. by Oscar Williams. ©1951 Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York

The Alley

quill

A new poet to my site (but it’s pretty obvious that she’s not a new poet!)  Life throws us all kinds of curve balls, as well as the ones we clobber ourselves with.  I like this offering from Spiritual Anxiety, as I think many of us can relate.  But more importantly, the over-arching theme I see is hope.

the alley

Slowly wandering through the alley

Of darkness and fears,

Silent footsteps

And the sound of rain ,

Gently caressing my cheeks,

reminding of the comfort

Of being here and now,-

Again

My blue lips inhale

The cold, poigant air,

Moving down my chest, clawing, as it flows.

But somwhat and how

It pulls me even deeper

Into this endless

despair

I’m walking through the allley

Of broken promises and fears,

Towards the golden light i’m heading,

Sheading tears and crossing fields

It’s a long road ahead of me,

Through thunders and through the storms

But at the end of this alley

There is hope and there are dreams.