I found this poem a few months ago while I was researching something entirely different. I really liked it and after reading your post it came to my mind. It seems to fit how I feel. Some may call it Nature, Love, Transformed, others may call it the still small voice. But either way, it's probably time to listen.
“O Life,
How oft we throw it off and think, — 'Enough,
Enough of life in so much! — here's a cause
For rupture; — herein we must break with Life,
Or be ourselves unworthy; here we are wronged,
Maimed, spoiled for aspiration: farewell Life!'
— And so, as froward babes, we hide our eyes
And think all ended. — Then, Life calls to us
In some transformed, apocryphal, new voice,
Above us, or below us, or around . .
Perhaps we name it Nature's voice, or Love's,
Tricking ourselves, because we are more ashamed
To own our compensations than our griefs:
Still, Life's voice! — still, we make our peace with Life.”
― Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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