The Sorrow of the Women

The sorrow of the women, and the sorrow 
Drawn up like shining fishes from the seas 
In all our nets: the griefs that grow together 
In sun and rainy weather 
Like mosses gray on shadowy apple-trees; 
Like mosses gray: nor wither 
When rose and sloe and lily dare not stay. 
For griefs are sturdy, and they hold together 
When thorns forget their May. 
And who shall lift the doubt from off To-morrow 
And give us peace? 
The darkness from To-day: and bid it cease — 
The sorrow of the women, and the sorrow? 

Even he, who goes the way 
That is not known of any summer day: 
Who passes the Wind's Height, the Marshes Yellow 
With none for faring-fellow. 
Who hears the Three Waves roaring after him, 
And looks not back, but onward to the dim 
Country where love and terror are not known, 
But weeds and blossoms are together sown. 

Yet there shall he find Terror, if he choose, 
And Love, both bound in chains that he must loose 
And one shall be his own. 
Hence to the Shee's dim country; seek and find 
Death chained, Love blind: 
Seek thou, and find 
If Death be fair at all, or Love be kind? 
Loose them, and let them be; 
Follow them home, and see 
The women bless another friend than thee: 
And thou shalt be our borrow. 
(The sorrow of the women, and the sorrow.)