Edith Wharton

(24 January 1862 – 11 August 1937 / New York City / United States)

All Saints


All so grave and shining see they come
From the blissful ranks of the forgiven,
Though so distant wheels the nearest crystal dome,
And the spheres are seven.

Are you in such haste to come to earth,
Shining ones, the Wonder on your brow,
To the low poor places of your birth,
And the day that must be darkness now?

Does the heart still crave the spot it yearned on
In the grey and mortal years,
The pure flame the smoky hearth it burned on,
The clear eye its tears?

Was there, in the narrow range of living,
After all the wider scope?
In the old old rapture of forgiving,
In the long long flight of hope?

Come you, from free sweep across the spaces,
To the irksome bounds of mortal law,
From the all-embracing Vision, to some face’s
Look that never saw?

Never we, imprisoned here, had sought you,
Lured you with the ancient bait of pain,
Down the silver current of the light-years brought you
To the beaten round again—

Is it you, perchance, who ache to strain us
Dumbly to the dim transfigured breast,
Or with tragic gesture would detain us
From the age-long search for rest?

Is the labour then more glorious than the laurel,
The learning than the conquered thought?
Is the meed of men the righteous quarrel,
Not the justice wrought?

Long ago we guessed it, faithful ghosts,
Proudly chose the present for our scene,
And sent out indomitable hosts
Day by day to widen our demesne.

Sit you by our hearth-stone, lone immortals,
Share again the bitter wine of life!
Well we know, beyond the peaceful portals
There is nothing better than our strife,

Nought more thrilling than the cry that calls us,
Spent and stumbling, to the conflict vain,
After each disaster that befalls us
Nerves us for a sterner strain.

And, when flood or foeman shakes the sleeper
In his moment’s lapse from pain,
Bids us fold our tents, and flee our kin, and deeper
Drive into the wilderness again.

Submitted: Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

What do you think this poem is about?



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (All Saints by Edith Wharton )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Block them, hasmukh amathalal
  2. Milk and wine, gajanan mishra
  3. Go on learning, Aftab Alam
  4. quand il pleut, xxx xxx
  5. How can I tell the truth, gajanan mishra
  6. A Few Beautiful Poems for Whom, for What…, Hebert Logerie
  7. Flash trade, hasmukh amathalal
  8. I know no one besides my mother, gajanan mishra
  9. Her Front Door, Randy McClave
  10. Thankless animal, hasmukh amathalal

Poem of the Day

poet Charles Stuart Calverley

He stood, a worn-out City clerk —
Who'd toil'd, and seen no holiday,
For forty years from dawn to dark —
Alone beside Caermarthen Bay.
...... Read complete »

   

Trending Poems

  1. Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
  2. The Surfer, Judith Wright
  3. Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
  4. The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
  5. Dreams, Langston Hughes
  6. Invictus, William Ernest Henley
  7. If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
  8. All Day It Has Rained, Alun Lewis
  9. If, Rudyard Kipling
  10. And Death Shall Have No Dominion, Dylan Thomas

Trending Poets

[Hata Bildir]