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Ina Donna Coolbrith (Ина Донна Кулбрит)


* * *


I CAN not count my life a loss,
With all its length of evil days.
I hold them only as the dross
About its gold, whose worth outweighs;
For each and all I give Him praise.

For, drawing nearer to the brink
That leadeth down to final rest,
I see with clearer eyes, I think;
And much that vexed me and oppressed,
Have learned was right, and just, and best.

So, though I may but dimly guess
Its far intent, this gift of His
I honor; nor would know the less
One sorrow, or in pain or bliss
Have other than it was and is.



Ina Donna Coolbrith's other poems:
  1. Bret Harte (A stir of pines in the forest)
  2. Meadowlarks
  3. Two
  4. Siesta
  5. Memorial Poem


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