My Comforter.

Well hast thou spoken, and yet not taught     A feeling strange or new;     Thou hast but roused a latent thought,     A cloud-closed beam of sunshine brought     To gleam in open view.     Deep down, concealed within my soul,     That light lies hid from men;     Yet glows unquenched, though shadows roll,     Its gentle ray cannot control,     About the sullen den.     Was I not vexed, in these gloomy ways     To walk alone so long?     Around me, wretches uttering praise,     Or howling o'er their hopeless days,     And each with Frenzy's tongue;     A brotherhood of misery,     Their smiles as sad as sighs;     Whose madness daily maddened me,     Distorting into agony     The bliss before my eyes!     So stood I, in Heaven's glorious sun,     And in the glare of Hell;     My spirit drank a mingled tone,     Of seraph's song, and demon's moan;     What my soul bore, my soul alone     Within itself may tell!     Like a soft, air above a sea,     Tossed by the tempest's stir;     A thaw-wind, melting quietly     The snow-drift on some wintry lea;     No:    what sweet thing resembles thee,     My thoughtful Comforter?     And yet a little longer speak,     Calm this resentful mood;     And while the savage heart grows meek,     For other token do not seek,     But let the tear upon my cheek     Evince my gratitude!