57656: Lines Written On My Nineteenth Birthday

<p dir="ltr"> (March 18, 1912)<br> Two Spirits woke me from my sleep this morn;<br> Both most unwelcome were; for they have torn<br> Away from me the shady screens of ease<br> And unreflecting, unself-scanning Peace<br> Wherein I used to hide me from annoy<br> In years which found and left me still a Boy.<br> The First rose solemn, with a Voice of stern<br> Monition; and it said: 'Look back! and learn<br> To number life by moments, not by years;<br> Know that thy youth to its completion nears.<br> This night the final minute hath been laid<br> Upon thy nineteen Springs. Aye, be dismayed<br> To see the Fourth Part of thy utmost Span<br> Now spent! What then? Affrighted dost thou plan<br> To crowd the Rest with Action, every whit?<br> Ev'n so essay; but know thou canst not knit<br> Thy web of hours so close as to regain<br> E'en one lost stitch! For ever gaps remain!'<br> Hereat it ceased; for now a second Shade<br> Caught all my senses to't; no sound it made;<br> No form it had; but quietly it drew<br> Its tightening hand of Pain through every thew<br> Of my frail body.... Pain?---Why Pain today?<br> Sure, not a taste of what this tingling clay<br> Shall suffer through the year? And yet, if so,<br> 'Twill be but my most rightful share, I trow,<br> Scarce worse than the keen hunger-pinch that racks<br> Numberless wretches all their life. Pain slacks<br> Its hold on one, only to grasp another;<br> And why should I be spared, and not my brother?<br> So thinking, quickly I pass the day. And lo!<br> What kindnesses the Friends around me show!<br> How many eyes in warm solicitude<br> Have smiled upon me! Tongues that have been rude<br> Are gentle now. ... Yet still, how do I miss<br> Thine eyes, thy voice, my Mother! Oft I kiss<br> Thy portrait, and I clutch thy letter dear<br> As if it were thy hand<br> At this, fresh cheer<br> Comes over me; and now upon my couch<br> Of ruby velvet, o'er the fire I crouch<br> In full content. I only pause from reading<br> To scribble these few lines; or, scarcely heeding<br> The dismal damp abroad, to mock the rain<br> Shooting its sleety balls at me in vain.<br> ---Ho, thus, methinks, hereafter, when the weak<br> Creations of a Mental Mist shall seek<br> To quench my soul, I'll thwart them by the shield<br> Of crystal Hope!<br> For there have been revealed<br> Heart-secrets since the coming of this day,<br> Making me thankful for its thorn-paved way.<br> Among them this: 'No joy is comparable<br> Unto the Melting---soft and gradual---<br> Of Torture's needles in the flesh. To sail<br> Smoothly from out the abysmal anguish-jail<br> And tread the placid plains of normal ease<br> Is sweeter far, I deem, than all the glees<br> Which we may catch by mounting higher still<br> Into the dangerous air where actual Bliss doth thrill.'</p>