  Of all the myriad moods of mind That through the soul come thronging Which one was e’er so dear, so kind, So beautiful as Longing? The thing we long for, that we are For one transcendent moment, Before the Present poor and bare Can make its sneering comment. Still, through our paltry stir and strife, Glows down the wished Ideal, And Longing molds in clay what Life Carves in the marble Real: To let the new life in, we know, Desire must ope the portal; Perhaps the longing to be so Helps make the soul immortal. Ah! let us hope that to our praise Good God not only reckons The moments when we tread His ways, But when the spirit beckons, That some slight good is also wrought Beyond self-satisfaction, When we are simply good in thought, Howe’er we fail in action. A cherubic Cupid kisses a young Psyche on the cheek W.A. Bouguereau (modern). Cupid and Psyche. |
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