I do not know what truth the false
Of this sad sense of the seen world may own,
Or if this flowered plant bears also a
Unto the true reality unknown.
But as the rainbow, neither earth's nor sky's,
Stands in the dripping freshness of lulled rain,
A hope, not real yet not fancy's,
Athwart the moment of our ceasing pain.
Somehow, since pain is felt yet felt as ill,
Hope hath a better warrant than being hoped;
Since pain is felt as aught we should not
Man hath a Nature's reason for having groped, Since Time was Time and age and grief his measures, Towards a better shelter than Time's pleasures.
