The Heart
Deliver me from mine own dreams! but save
From mine own thoughts; for these, too busy still,
Fill up the mightiest measure of mine ill
And form the darkest doom that I must brave!
Deliverance, then, from these I deeply crave;
But patience this must need, and power and skill;
For the great heart is cunning, and its will
Right tyrannous! say who stoops not as its slave?
The heart is as a giant in its might,
And doth in mastery of its greatness tower,
And riseth in its strength, to blast and blight!
Heart, thou art a host of giants in thine hour!
The passions are thy warriors; and these fight
As though their arms were storms, the thunder's conquering dower!
Deliver me from mine own dreams! but save
From mine own thoughts; for these, too busy still,
Fill up the mightiest measure of mine ill
And form the darkest doom that I must brave!
Deliverance, then, from these I deeply crave;
But patience this must need, and power and skill;
For the great heart is cunning, and its will
Right tyrannous! say who stoops not as its slave?
The heart is as a giant in its might,
And doth in mastery of its greatness tower,
And riseth in its strength, to blast and blight!
Heart, thou art a host of giants in thine hour!
The passions are thy warriors; and these fight
As though their arms were storms, the thunder's conquering dower!