Poem of the Week: A Fixed Idea


What torture lurks within a single thought   
When grown too constant; and however kind,   
However welcome still, the weary mind
Aches with its presence. Dull remembrance taught   
Remembers on unceasingly; unsought   
The old delight is with us but to find   
That all recurring joy is pain refined,   
Become a habit, and we struggle, caught.   
You lie upon my heart as on a nest,   
Folded in peace, for you can never know   
How crushed I am with having you at rest   
Heavy upon my life. I love you so
You bind my freedom from its rightful quest.   
In mercy lift your drooping wings and go.

-A

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