Work Without Hope

All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair- The bees are stirring- birds are on the wing- And WINTER slumbering in the open air, Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring! And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing, Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing. Yet well I ken the banks where Amaranths blow, Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow. Bloom, O ye Amaranths! bloom for whom ye may, For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away! With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll: And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul? WORK WITHOUT HOPE draws nectar in a sieve, And HOPE without an object cannot live.