Duty Comes To Grief
[‘The joys of parents are secret, and so are their griefs and fears.’]
Now! — will I wait no longer, Now! — will I say my piece; No matter which be stronger, This living death must cease. Here is the Hall of Hating, A folly filled with fears; Here, the rack stands, waiting, For willing volunteers. These are the Walls of Malice Which shun the heart’s relief; And this, a Poisoned Chalice To toast the Worm of Grief. There is the Chair of Musing, A selfish thing of stone; And here the Stairs of Choosing — Think you you grieve alone? Speak! — and be done with weeping, Cast off this mourning band. Upstairs, our child is sleeping — Come dearest, take my hand.
Poem Published in the following books: Lone Wolf