The Poetical Works of John Payne | ||
153
LIFE UNLIVED.
HOW many months, how many a weary yearMy soul had stood upon that brink of days,
Straining dim eyes into the treacherous haze
For signs of life's beginning. Far and near
The grey mist floated, like a shadow-mere,
Beyond hope's bounds; and in the lapsing ways,
Pale phantoms flitted, seeming to my gaze
The portents of the coming hope and fear.
“Surely,” I said, “life shall rise up at last,
Shall sweep me by with pageant and delight!”
But, as I spoke, the waste shook with a blast
Of cries and clamours of a mighty fight;
Then all was still. Upon me fell the night
And a voice whispered to me, “Life is past.”
The Poetical Works of John Payne | ||