Yearnings but pulsate In the human heart; Aside from colors vibrant on the air They have no form, In truth they bear no part.
Longings but gather in the human breast, Waste matter of this mortal mind. They smoulder on Forever at unrest.
Anna M. Johnson's "Yearnings" is a short, bleak look at what it feels like to want something without knowing what. The speaker treats yearnings as restless things that beat inside the human heart like a pulse, yet they have no real shape. The only trace of them is a flicker of "colors vibrant on the air," something bright but vaporous, impossible to hold. In the speaker's view, they bear "no part" in truth, meaning they don't connect to anything solid or fulfilling.
The second stanza turns darker. Longings gather in the chest, but here they are called "waste matter of this mortal mind," a surprisingly harsh phrase that makes desire sound like leftover debris. They don't fade; they "smoulder on," never quite burning out and never at peace.
The mood is weary and unsettled. The speaker seems to see longing as a permanent human condition, painful and pointless, glowing faintly but going nowhere.