Classic Poem

Speed had not served, strength had not flowed amain,
Heart had not braced me, for this journey's strain,
Had I foreseen what losses must be met;
But drooping losses was I never yet!

So rich in losses through long years I've grown,
So rich in losses (and so proud, I own)
Myself I pity not, but only such
As have not had, nor therefore lost, so much.

Behind me ever grew a hungry Vast
Which travelers fear to face, but call the Past;
So much it won from me I can but choose
To exult that I've so little left to lose.

When that shall go, as fain it is to go,
Like some full sail when winds of voyage blow,
At this late nick of time to murmur sore
Were idle, since so much I've lost before!

So much I've lost, lost out of hand—ah, yes!
But were that all, my fortune I could bless;
For whensoever aught has slipped away,
Some dearer thing has gone to find the stray;

And then, to find the finder loth or slow,
Yet dearer thing my wistful heart let go,
With hope like his whose glancing arrow gave
The clue to Pari-banou's palace-cave.

Perchance one loss the more, regains the whole,
Lost loves and faith and young delight of soul:
I'm losing—what? Ah, Life, join thou the quest;
It may be, to be lost, is not unblest!