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sweetest harps have broken stringsTheir grandest accords
have their jarsLike shadows on the light of starsAnd somehow
something ever mars The songs the greatest minstrel sings.
And so each song is incompleteAnd not a rhyme can ever round
Into the chords of perfect sound The tones of thought that e'er
surround The ways walked by the poet's feet.
What ails the world?
he sings and sighs; No answer cometh to
Father Ryan's Poems
66
his cry. He asks the earth and asks the sky -- The echoes of his
song pass by Unanswered -- and the poet dies.
Father Ryan's Poems
67
A Thought
There never was a valley without a faded flowerThere never was a
heaven without some little cloud; The face of day may flash with light in
any morning hourBut evening soon shall come with her shadow-woven
shroud.
There never was a river without its mists of grayThere never was a
forest without its fallen leaf; And joy may walk beside us down the
windings of our wayWhenlo [link widoczny dla zalogowanych]! there sounds a footstepand we meet the
face of grief.
There never was a seashore without its drifting wreckThere never
was an ocean without its moaning wave; And the golden gleams of glory
the summer sky that fleckShine where dead stars are sleep