35 Sonnets — Sonnet XXX

XXX.

I do not know what truth the false untruth Of this sad sense of the seen world may own, Or if this flowered plant bears also a fruit Unto the true reality unknown.

But as the rainbow, neither earth’s nor sky’s, Stands in the dripping freshness of lulled rain, A hope, not real yet not fancy’s, lies Athwart the moment of our ceasing pain.

Somehow, since pain is felt yet felt as ill, Hope hath a better warrant than being hoped;

Since pain is felt as aught we should not feel Man hath a Nature’s reason for having groped, Since Time was Time and age and grief his measures, Towards a better shelter than Time’s pleasures.