The Weary Traveller... by Mary Wroth

The weary Traveller, who tyred, sought
In places distant farre, yet found no end
Of paine or labour, nor his state to mend:
At last with joy is to his home backe brought.
Findes not more ease though he with joy be fraught,
When past is feare content like soules ascend:
Then I, on whom new pleasures doe descend,
Which now as high as first-borne blisse is wrought.
He tyred with his paines, I with my minde;
He all content receiues by ease of lymbs:
I, greatest happinessse that I doe finde,
Beliefe for faith, while hope in pleasure swimmes.
Truth saith 'twas wrong conceit bred my despight,
Which once acknowledg'd, brings my hearts delight.

The poem.  Now why did I choose this poem?  I was looking for a travelling poem, something a llittle upbeat because I wasn't going to post today (except maybe to acknowledge Mary for being one of the winners in this year's flash fiction competition. Congratulations Mary!) but here I am completely non-functioning - and trying to cheer myself up and the last line just said something important.

Of course now that I've looked up the author - I'm seeing the poem in a whole different light.  And maybe that is why I like these old poems -- for all their dense writing and obscure phrasiology, it gives the imagination so much room to play.  Anyway I hope you enjoyed this one too, and if you want to find out more about Mary Wroth, she was born 1587, married at 17 and quite an interesting literary figure, so it's well worth reading about her life here http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/mary-wroth

have a fantastic week, everyone, cheers,
A.J.

A.J. Ponder's books are available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, Paper Plus and good Wellington bookstores.