Eleanor Farjeon

Sonnets. 5. When all is said, we can but turn our eyes

When all is said, we can but turn our eyes
In helplessness on the miraculous heart
And secretly dream opportunities
That shall its untried force in motion start;
But life that launched and left us lets us drift,
Our mightiest dreams still lean on circumstance,
The essence of pain and joy is in our gift
But not its seasons of significance.

We cannot by the strength of our desires
Compel our destinies; we only feel
That in our souls imperishable fires
Are hungry for the anvil and the steel.
But if life brings no metal to the flame
What shall we fashion of it in life’s name?