have fulfill'd
All Nature in them will'd.

And were we also made
Of like terrestrial mould
We should not be afraid,
Nor feel the grave so cold;
But, all oblivious of our fate,
Live sweetly out our date.

For the great mother loves
Her children far too well;
These longings that she moves
Their own fulfilment tell:
She would not burden us with aught
We really needed not.

O, not in vain she gave
To the wild birds their wings!
They spread them forth, and have
Heaven for their wanderings.
But we, to whom no wings are given
Why seek we for a Heaven?

And, when far o'er us fly
Those voyagers of the air,
Why must we gaze, and sigh,
_O would that I were there?_
Why are we restless, ill content,
Tied to one element?

'Tis not that in our tears
Some happier life we crave;
Our happiest, sweetest years
Mysterious moments have:
The sense of our brief human lot
Clings to us, haunts our thought.

O then this pleasant earth
Seems but an alien thing:
Faint grows her busy mirth;
Far hence our thoughts take wing:
For some enduring home we cry!
She cannot satisfy,

Or bind us: only ties
Immortal found can bless;
Only in loving eyes
We see our happiness;
Only upon a loving breast
Our souls find any rest.

Why thirsts the spirit so
For life? what moves it thus?
'Tis _her_ voice; yes, I know,
'Tis Nature cries in us:
'Tis no unholy strife of ours
Against forbidding powers.

What though we gaze with fear,
So blank death seems to be;
What though no land appear
Beyond that lonely sea;
Still in our hearts her cry doth stay;
She will find out a way.

So in the chrysalis
Slumber those lovely wings;
So from the shell it is
The dazzling pearl she brings:
Her glorious works she works alone,
Unfathom'd and unknown!

MANMOHAN GHOSE.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Primavera, by
Stephen Phillips, Laurence Binyon, Manmohan Ghose and Arthur Shearly Cripps

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRIMAVERA ***

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