Emily Jane Pfeiffer


WHEN vexed with waking thought, and its dull gleam,
I—waiting on the shore of Time—oft close
Mine eyes, and while the ocean ebbs and flows
Around me, hear its murmurous voice, and dream.
And sometimes dreaming thus, the Will supreme
My thoughts have bent beneath, will seem to be
A Will, not working by its sole decree,
But one that wrestles with a counter-stream.

And dreaming thus, my heart will give a bound
Of yearning love, and wake me with a cry;
Oh for the feet of Hermes that I might—
A chartered messenger—spurn back the ground
And through the reeling world be charged to fly,
With but one word to help Him in the fight.

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