Jean Ingelow Quote

Fair world! these puzzled souls of ours grow weak With beating their bruised wings against the rim That bounds their utmost flying, when they seek The distant and the dim. Contentment comes not therefrom; still there lies An outer distance when the first is hailed; And still forever yawns before our eyes An utmost - that is veiled.

Poems, 13th Honours (p. 24)

Fair world! these puzzled souls of ours grow weak With beating their bruised wings against the rim That bounds their utmost flying, when they seek...

Fair world! these puzzled souls of ours grow weak With beating their bruised wings against the rim That bounds their utmost flying, when they seek...

Fair world! these puzzled souls of ours grow weak With beating their bruised wings against the rim That bounds their utmost flying, when they seek...

Fair world! these puzzled souls of ours grow weak With beating their bruised wings against the rim That bounds their utmost flying, when they seek...