Unless

Who has not wanted, does not guess

What plenty is.—Who has not groped

In depths of doubt and hopelessness,

Has never truly hoped.—

Unless, sometimes, a shadow falls

Upon his mirth, and veils his sight,

And from the darkness drifts the light

  Of love at intervals.

And that most dear of everything,

I hold, is love; and who can sit

With lightest heart and laugh and sing,

Knows not the worth of it.—

Unless, in some strange throng, perchance,

He feels how thrilling sweet it is,

One yearning look that answers his —

  The troth of glance and glance.

Who knows not pain, knows not, alas!

What pleasure is.—Who knows not of

The bitter cup that will not pass,

Knows not the taste of love.

O souls that thirst, and hearts that fast,

And natures faint with famishing,

God lift and lead and safely bring

  You to your own at last!