The End of the Book

My work is finished that has been to me
My only solace for this many a day.
But whether it in other company
May so beguile the time and hue the ray
Of loneliness and thought, I dare not say;
Nor whether with the future it shall be
A thing of note, nor whether presently
’Tis doomed to waste like a thin mist away.
Yet whatsoever be its worldly lot,
I know that, hive-like, it with love is stored,
And that through all its pages I have not
Written one wilfully misleading word,
Or traced one feeling that my heart ignored—
One line that truth has counselled me to blot.

poem by Charles Harpur
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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