Lost Blisses
Arthur O'Shaughnessy
1844 to 1881
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Think, O Heart, what sweet—had you waited
A moment, such a day—
Had yet been to do or say
That shall never be said now or done!
what beautiful worlds uncreated
The clouds then bore back the sun;
What blisses were all frustrated;
What loves, were almost begun!
Think, O Life,—had your stream drifted
To this or that holier Past,
Or Future must come at last—
Think, O sorrowful Life, and repent—
How the sorrowful days had been gifted
With solace ravishment,
And year after year slowly lifted
To heavens golden content!
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