I recommend reading this poem by the nineteenth-century English poet, Arthur Hugh Clough (1819 - 1861):
Say Not The Struggle Naught Availeth
by the nineteenth-century English poet, Arthur Hugh Clough (1819 - 1861)
Say not the struggle naught availeth,
The labour and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been they remain.
If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
It may be, in yon smoke conceal’d,
Your comrades chase e’en now the fliers,
And, but for you, possess the field.
For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
Comes silent, flooding in, the main.
And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light;
In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly!
But westward, look, the land is bright!
This particular poem, though quite old-fashioned by modern standards, has been one of my favorites for a very long time. I especially like the last stanza. Did I mention that the poem was written by the nineteenth-century British poet, Arthur Hugh Clough (1819 - 1861)?
I thought I did.
I wonder if you might have any idea who this could be:
I thought you might.
