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I know too well the poison and the sting of things too sweet.

Adelaide Anne Procter

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Hark! the hours are softly calling Bidding Spring arise To listen to the rain-drops falling From the cloudy skies
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Lest the chain be broken Ere the pilgrimage be done.
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But still our place is kept, and it will wait, Ready for us to fill it, soon or late.
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See how time makes all grief decay.
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True or false, that never dies
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Half my life is full of sorrow, Half of joy, still fresh and new
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Every word man’s lips have uttered Echoes in God’s skies.
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Some pure ideal of a noble life That once seemed possible?
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One by one bright gifts from heaven Joys are sent thee here below
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I know too well the poison and the sting of things too sweet.
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One of these lives is a fancy, But the other one is true.
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Hours are golden links, God’s token Reaching heaven; but one by one Take them
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Have we not all, amid life’s petty strife
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The men are much alarmed by certain speculations about women; and well they may be
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Joy is like restless day; but peace divine like quiet night.
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