Aspiration

Thou sea, whose tireless waves Forever seek the shore, Striving to clamber higher, Yet failing evermore; Why wilt thou still aspire Though losing thy desire?

Thou sun, whose constant feet Mount ever to thy noon, Thou canst not there remain, Night quenches thee so soon; Why wilt thou still aspire Though losing thy desire?

Rose, in my garden growing, Unharmed by winter’s snows, Another winter cometh Ere all thy buds unclose; Why wilt thou still aspire Though losing thy desire?

Mortal, with feeble hands Striving some work to do, Fate, with her cruel shears, Doth all thy steps pursue; Why wilt thou still aspire Though losing thy desire?

The Roses, Newburgh,

April 21, 1853.