By Nathaniel Hawthorne
Oh could I raise the darken’d veil,
Which hides my future life from me,
Could unborn ages slowly sail,
Before my view—and could I see
My every action painted there,
To cast one look I would not dare.
There poverty and grief might stand,
And dark Despair’s corroding hand,
Would make me seek the lonely tomb
To slumber in its endless gloom.
Then let me never cast a look,
Within Fate’s fix’d mysterious book.
Source: The Spectator (1820)
Poet Bio
More By This Poet
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The Ocean has its silent caves,
Deep, quiet, and alone;
Though there be fury on the waves,
Beneath them there is none.
The awful spirits of the deep
Hold their communion there;
And there are those for whom we weep,
The young, the bright, the fair.
Calmly the...
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A spring snow coincides with plum blossoms.
In a month, you will forget, then remember
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I will remember when I brake to a stop,
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I have no theory of radiance,
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In the courtyard, we spot the rising shell of a moon,
and,...