University of Virginia Library


176

O DEATH

O Death in some green hollow of mountain-ranges,
By some calm sea,
Hast thou no haven of hope that never changes,
No place for me?
Hast thou no valley fair with silver fountains
Where I may rest?
No lake that limns its deep imbosoming mountains
In liquid breast?
Shall I not wake some quiet morn and find thee,
Lure thee to me;
Cling to thy neck, O true love Death, and bind thee
With lover's glee?
Thou art gentle of heart and all who love may trust thee,
Thou wilt not fail;
No mastering force hath power aside to thrust thee,
Time's self turns pale.

177

The russet stems of summer flowers obey thee
When summer goes;
No tenderest words, no blossom-pleas delay thee,
Thou steal'st the rose.
Thou art great of soul and o'er the hills thou sweepest,
O'er sea and air;
Along the violet-scented vales thou leapest
And leav'st them bare.
And me too singer of tragic things, and weary,
Thou shalt redeem:
Save from the dreamer's pang, the endless dreary
Faith in a dream.
O greater singer than I, and far more fateful,
On me who weep
Take pity and grant for songful life and hateful
A songless sleep.
1880.