Revulsion.

I see the starting buds, I catch the gleam
    In the near distance of a sun-kissed pool,
    The blessed April air blows soft and cool,
Small wonder if all sorrow grows a dream,
    And we forget that close around us lie
    A city's poor, a city's misery.

Of every outward vision there is some
    Internal counterpart. To-day I know
    The blessedness of living, and the glow
Of life's dear spring-tide. I can bid thee come
    In thought and wander where the fields are fair
    With bursting life, and I, rejoicing, there.

Yet have I passed, Beloved, through the vale
    Of dark dismay, and felt the dews of death
    Upon my brow, have measured out my breath
Counting my hours of joy, as misers quail
    At every footfall in the quiet night
    And clutch their gold and count it in affright.

I learned new lessons in that school of fear,
    Life took a fresh perspective; sad and brave
    The view is from the threshold of the grave.
In that long, backward glance I saw her clear
    From fogs of gathering night, and all the show
    Of small things that seemed great a while ago.

Our dreams of fame, the stubborn power we call
    Our self-respect, our hopes of worldly good,
    Our jealousies and fears, how in the flood
Of this new light they faded, poor and small;
    Showing our pettiness beside God's truth,
    Besides His age our poor, unlearned youth.

The earth yearns forth, impatient for the days
    Of its maturity, the ample sweets
    Of Summer's fulness; and its great heart beats
With a fierce restlessness, for Spring delays
    Seeing her giddy reign end all too soon,
    Her bud-crown ravished by the hand of June.

And I, - I shall be happy, - promise me
    This one small thing, Beloved, for I long
    For happiness as the caged bird for song.
Not where four walls close in the melody
    I want the fresh, sweet air, the water's gush,
    The strong, sane life with thee, the summer hush.