Explore "Desolation" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I think that the bitterest sorrow or pain / Of love unrequited, or cold death's woe, / Is sweet compared to that hour when we know / That some grand passion is on the wane;
When we see that the glory and glow and grace / Which lent a splendor to night and day / Are surely fading, and showing the gray / And dull groundwork of the commonplace;
When fond expressions on dull ears fall, / When the hands clasp calmly without one thrill, / When we cannot muster by force of will / The old emotions that came at call;
When the dream has vanished we fain would keep, / When the heart, like a watch, runs out of gear, / And all the savor goes out of the year, / Oh, then is the time -- if we can -- to weep!
But no tears soften this dull, pale woe; / We must sit and face it with dry, sad eyes. / If we seek to hold it, the swifter joy flies -- / We can only be passive, and let it go.