Poems (Cary)/Times

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TIMES.
Times are there when I long to know The mystery beyond life's wave,Even at the awful price, to go Unmated through the grave.
Times, when our loves and hatreds, all Of level vast, or skyey steep,Seem only like the meadow wall A very lamb might leap.
Times, when within my heart the grain Of faith into a mountain grows,As suddenly as in the rain The bud becomes a rose.
Times, when in fancy's shining fold Joys out of heaven are drawn to me,As stars in twilight's net of gold Out of the sunset sea.
Times, when rebellion so abounds Within me, I, though Satan's markWould twist his fiery wings to crowns, And glorify the dark.
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Times, when I feel myself a wreck And hear a voice say in my heart,"Better a mill-stone round thy neck, Than being what thou art."
So am I driven upon life's stream, By every wave, by every breeze,From good to ill—my life a gleam Between the darknesses.

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