THOMAS MOORE.
MY OWN SHALL COME TO ME.
If John Burroughs (1837-) had never written any other poem than "My Own
Shall Come to Me," he would have stood to all ages as one of the
greatest of American poets. The poem is most characteristic of the
tall, majestic, slow-going poet and naturalist. There is no greater
line in Greek or English literature than
"I stand amid the eternal ways."
Serene I fold my hands and wait,
Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea.
I rave no more 'gainst time or fate,
For lo! my own shall come to me.
I stay my haste, I make delays,
For what avails this eager pace?
I stand amid the eternal ways,
And what is mine shall know my face.
Asleep, awake, by night or day
The friends I seek are seeking me;
No wind can drive my bark astray,
Nor change the tide of destiny.
What matter if I stand alone?
I wait with joy the coming years;
My heart shall reap when it has sown,
And gather up its fruit of tears.
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