Foliage: Various Poems

<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </SPAN></p> <br/> <h2> FRANCIS THOMPSON </h2> <p>Thou hadst no home, and thou couldst see<br/> In every street the windows' light:<br/> Dragging thy limbs about all night,<br/> No window kept a light for thee.<br/> <br/> However much thou wert distressed,<br/> Or tired of moving, and felt sick,<br/> Thy life was on the open deck&mdash;<br/> Thou hadst no cabin for thy rest.<br/> <br/> Thy barque was helpless 'neath the sky,<br/> No pilot thought thee worth his pains<br/> To guide for love or money gains&mdash;<br/> Like phantom ships the rich sailed by.<br/> <br/> Thy shadow mocked thee night and day,<br/> Thy life's companion, it alone;<br/> It did not sigh, it did not moan,<br/> But mocked thy moves in every way.<br/> <br/> In spite of all, the mind had force,<br/> And, like a stream whose surface flows<br/> The wrong way when a strong wind blows,<br/> It underneath maintained its course.<br/> <br/> Oft didst thou think thy mind would flower<br/> Too late for good, as some bruised tree<br/> That blooms in Autumn, and we see<br/> Fruit not worth picking, hard and sour.<br/> <br/> Some poets <i>feign</i> their wounds and scars.<br/> If they had known real suffering hours,<br/> They'd show, in place of Fancy's flowers,<br/> More of Imagination's stars.<br/> <br/> So, if thy fruits of Poesy<br/> Are rich, it is at this dear cost&mdash;<br/> That they were nipt by Sorrow's frost,<br/> In nights of homeless misery.<br/></p> <p><br/><br/></p> <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />