Eleanor Farjeon (Элинор Фарджон)
Sonnets. 5. When all is said, we can but turn our eyes
When all is said, we can but turn our eyes In helplessness on the miraculous heart And secretly dream opportunities That shall its untried force in motion start; But life that launched and left us lets us drift, Our mightiest dreams still lean on circumstance, The essence of pain and joy is in our gift But not its seasons of significance. We cannot by the strength of our desires Compel our destinies; we only feel That in our souls imperishable fires Are hungry for the anvil and the steel. But if life brings no metal to the flame What shall we fashion of it in life’s name?
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