Charles Harpur

(23 January 1813 – 10 June 1868 / Windsor, New South Wales)

The End Of The Book - Poem by Charles Harpur

My work is finished that has been to me
My only solace for this many a day.
But whether it in other company
May so beguile the time and hue the ray
Of loneliness and thought, I dare not say;
Nor whether with the future it shall be
A thing of note, nor whether presently
’Tis doomed to waste like a thin mist away.
Yet whatsoever be its worldly lot,
I know that, hive-like, it with love is stored,
And that through all its pages I have not
Written one wilfully misleading word,
Or traced one feeling that my heart ignored—
One line that truth has counselled me to blot.

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Read poems about / on: future, work, truth, time, heart

Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004

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