Classic Poem

What dost thou think thy field will bear
In the unknown years to come?
Blossom and fruit most rich and rare,
Trees where the birds are never dumb?

The tears fell like large drops of rain
Upon the wasted field;
Dost think thy loss will be sure gain,
Thy tear-sown ground sweet harvest yield?

Or, like the sea's unploughed demesne,
Burst only into flower
Of windy flash and barren green
At fitful will of the sun's power?

Will from the bitter seed grow fruit
Sweet as the breath of life?
Or can thy impetuous hope compute
The end of the unending strife?

This is a field wondrous and wide,
Sown with all human tears;
Hark! how the winds of sorrow gride,
Freighted with sobs and sighing fears.

This is the field of human woe,
Wet with all human tears;
How can the white flower, Joyance, grow
From scattered seed of pains and fears?

Thou standest at the heart of night,
And Hope, the nightingale,
Has poured adown the dark with might
Her final and impetuous wail.

Now not a sound pervades the air,
Now not a star recalls
The time when youthful life was fair
Within the golden morning's halls.

Nay, if thou weep, profits it thee?
Will lifted voices pierce
The iron sky of mystery
That clasps and mocks thine anguish fierce?

Sow thou in tears, let who will reap,
Make no more questioning:
Perchance if thou the summit steep
Wilt climb, a sudden voice will sing

Songs of consolement in thine ear;
Nay, but I cannot tell;
My toils to me as dark appear
As thine, ruled by the self-same spell.

Take thou thy burden in strong hands;
What right hast thou to claim
Luxurious life in summer lands,
And freedom from life's grief and shame?

Is it not better thus to be
Girt for the noble goal,
Than wrapped in pleasure's minstrelsy,
And ignorant of thine own soul?

What signifies thy little life,
So that the universe
Proceed in light? What if thy strife
Lead thee from better unto worse?

What signifies thy little life,
So that the general will
Fulfil itself? What if thy strife
Slay thee or ere thou climb the hill?

Whoso will reap, sow thou in tears,
Make no more questioning;
Hark! through the night across thy fears
Sweet sudden voices strangely sing.

Perchance the just and best are all,
Believe what seemeth right,
But stand unshaken as a wall
That scorns the whole sea's angry might!