Undeveloped Lives

William Edward Hartpole Lecky (1838–1903)

NOT every thought can find its words,

Not all within is known;

For minds and hearts have many chords

That never yield their tone.

Tastes, instincts, feelings, passions, powers,

Sleep there, unfelt, unseen;

And other lives lie hid in ours—

The lives that might have been;

Affections whose transforming force

Could mould the heart anew;

Strong motives that might change the course

Of all we think and do.

Upon the tall cliff’s cloud-wrapt verge

The lonely shepherd stands,

And hears the thundering ocean surge

That sweeps the far-off strands;

And thinks in peace of raging storms

Where he will never be—

Of life in all its unknown forms

In lands beyond the sea.

So in our dreams some glimpse appears,

Though soon it fades again,

How other lands or times or spheres

Might make us other men;

How half our being lies in trance,

Nor joy nor sorrow brings,

Unless the hand of circumstance

Can touch the latent strings.

We know not fully what we are,

Still less what we might be;

But hear faint voices from the far

Dim lands beyond the sea.