Lines. Poem by Frances Anne Kemble

'Tis all in vain, it may not last,
The sickly sunlight dies away,
And the thick clouds that veil the past,
Roll darkly o'er my present day.
Have I not flung them off, and striven
To seek some dawning hope in vain;
Have I not been for ever driven
Back to the bitter past again?
What though a brighter sky bends o'er
Scenes where no former image greets me,
Though lost in paths untrod before,
Here, even here, pale Memory meets me.
O life—O blighted bloomless tree!
Why cling thy fibres to the earth?
Summer can bring no flower to thee,
Autumn no bearing, spring no birth.
Bid me not strive, I'll strive no more,
To win from pain my joyless breast;
Sorrow has ploughed too deeply o'er
Life's Eden—let it take the rest!