My Virtual Reading Room

The Joy of Incompleteness

If all our life were one broad glare

Of sunlight, clear, unclouded;

If all our path were smooth and fair,

By no soft gloom enshrouded;

If all life’s flowers were fully blown

Without the sweet unfolding,

And happiness were rudely thrown

On hands too weak for holding—

Should we not miss the twilight hours,

The gentle haze and sadness?

Should we not long for storms and showers

To break the constant gladness?