Is't Well to Bruise the Heart?

Is't Well to Bruise the Heart?

Is't well to bruise the heart that loves thee well?

Is't well to give for kindness veiled hate?

Is't well to war 'gainst all-conquering Fate?

So much it is for thee to know and tell!

For me, through all the years, alone, I wait,

Happy, when most alone and desolate,

Hopeless, to hear but hope's remorseless knell
Sound as dirges from some grand organ's swell,

Waiting, in desolation and in woe,

When hopeless hope, still hopeless, hopeless hopes;

For I remember, what I can but know,

As memory in the dead, living, past gropes,

And feasts upon the thoughts of cherished love

That came to me like manna from above.

T. Thomas Fortune

3:51, p. 2

1890.09.13