Young Susan was a likely lass;
I knew her well and long;
A modest girl and good she was,
Or else my guess was wrong.
I went and came, I came and went,
As rivers ebb and flow:
Whene'er I came I felt content,
Nor less when forced to go.

Anon, without my choice or voice,
Things took another turn;
The Coming bade my heart rejoice,
The Going made it mourn:
I had no hope, no home, no goal,
Save Sue, and Sue alone,
My mind and thoughts, my heart and soul
Were her's, and not mine own.

Then deaf I grew, and dumb, and dull,
I saw nor bloom nor flower,
For nought was bright or beautiful
Unless in Susan's bower;
Sun, stars, or moon, by night or noon,
I could not find or mind—
I only gazed on Sue, and soon
I gazed my peepers blind.

When lo! a different season came,
And I was changed anew.
Though Susan still remained the same,
As fair, as good, as true,
I went and came, I came and went,
As rivers ebb and flow,
But always came with less content,
And went, well pleased to go.

Ye sages grave, you understand
Why many a youth and miss
Join heart and hand in Wedlock's band,
And woo, and coo, and kiss:
Ye thinkers, then, ye learned men,
I pray you tell me free,
The How and Where, the Why and When
Things went so odd with me.

I've thought, myself, both morn and night,
Both night and morn I've thought;
I've thought, and sought, and prayed for light,
But I've discovered nought;
So Love, you mind, is like the wind—
You feel it while it blows—
But whence it comes you cannot find,
Nor follow where it goes.

We cannot kindle when we will
The fire which in the heart resides;
The spirit bloweth and is still,
In mystery our soul abides.
But tasks in hours of insight willed
Can be through hours of gloom fulfilled.

With aching hands and bleeding feet
We dig and heap, lay stone on stone;
We bear the burden and the heat
Of the long day, and wish ’twere done.
Not till the hours of light return,
All we have built do we discern.

Then, when the clouds are off the soul,
When thou dost bask in Nature’s eye,
Ask how she viewed thy self-control,
Thy struggling, tasked morality,—
Nature, whose free, light, cheerful air,
Oft made thee, in thy gloom, despair.

And she, whose censure thou dost dread,
Whose eye thou wast afraid to seek,
See, on her face a glow is spread,
A strong emotion on her cheek!
“Ah, child!” she cries, “that strife divine,
Whence was it, for it is not mine?

“There is no effort on my brow;
I do not strive, I do not weep:
I rush with the swift spheres, and glow
In joy, and when I will, I sleep.
Yet that severe, that earnest air,
I saw, I felt it once—but where?

“I knew not yet the gauge of time,
Nor wore the manacles of space;
I felt it in some other clime,
I saw it in some other place.
’Twas when the heavenly house I trod,
And lay upon the breast of God.”