Now! — will I wait no longer,
Now! — will I say my piece;
No matter which be stronger,
This living death must cease.
Here is the Hall of Hating,
A folly filled with fears;
Here, the rack stands, waiting,
For willing volunteers.
These are the Walls of Malice
Which shun the heart’s relief;
And this, a Poisoned Chalice
To toast the Worm of Grief.
There is the Chair of Musing,
A selfish thing of stone;
And here the Stairs of Choosing —
Think you you grieve alone?
Speak! — and be done with weeping,
Cast off this mourning band.
Upstairs, our child is sleeping —
Come dearest, take my hand.
“The joys of parents are secret, and so are their
griefs and fears.” — Francis Bacon Essays (1625)