Of doubt that curve and break and evermore repeat
The weary lesson of life incomplete,
Moaning and groping in unsunny caves,
Beating against a rock that will not break,
Flinging their bitter anger far on high,
Seeking to chill the tender flowers that lie
Close nestled to the rock for its warmth’s sake,
I kept sad feast one doubting April day,
When robins’ song had drifted from the hills,
When buds were bursting, and the golden bells