FEAR OF BLINDNESS.
A horror, like the darkness of the tomb, Came over me when told, That I might lose the brightness and the bloom, The blessed green and gold Of landscapes, and the circuit of the skies. If doomed such ill to bear,— If never more, indeed, these clouded eyes May taste their daily fare Of books and beauty’s charm, it were unwise To yield me to despair.
Twin guides, that from the dawn of life till late Your lamps for me have borne, If weary of your task you hesitate To serve me further, worn And vexed with slavish toil, demanding rest Myself alone I chide, And grateful are the heavings of my breast, For light so long supplied By two such faithful friends, abused, opprest, Your rights, poor eyes! denied.
My soul, if fails thy hope, with patient brow Accept the outer dusk, And trust the inner light that serves thee now To pierce the silken husk Of truths that do impart a quiet joy. The self-illumined mind Is not dependent for its best employ On outward things, defined To outward sense;—let aught this lamp destroy, And I were truly blind.