My Lyrical Life Poems Old and New. By Gerald Massey |
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| XIV. | XIV. |
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 | My Lyrical Life |  |
XIV.
'Tis very sad to hear a man so old,
Talk of his mother who, beneath the mould,
Has lain an age, and see his childish tears,
That have to pierce the crust of eighty years.
He turns and turns, incapable of rest,
Tossed on the billow that heaves in brain and breast;
A life that beats with all too weak a wave
To land him on the other side the Grave!
The old man mutters in his broken dream.
Talk of his mother who, beneath the mould,
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That have to pierce the crust of eighty years.
He turns and turns, incapable of rest,
Tossed on the billow that heaves in brain and breast;
A life that beats with all too weak a wave
To land him on the other side the Grave!
The old man mutters in his broken dream.
“Last night I wander'd in a world of moan;
I saw a white Soul going all alone,
Over the white snows of eternity;
I followed far, and followed fast to see
The face, and lo, it was my own.”
And now he muses by some weird sea-side.I saw a white Soul going all alone,
Over the white snows of eternity;
I followed far, and followed fast to see
The face, and lo, it was my own.”
“The tide is a-making its bonny Death-bed;
The white sea-maidens rise ready to wed;
Nearer and nearer, unveiling their charms,
They toss for their lovers, long, shadowy arms!
Dancing with other-world music and motion;
Brides of dead Sailors; the Beauties of Ocean.
“Wave after wave my worn, old Bark has tossed;
One moment saved, another it seemed lost
For ever, still it righted from each blow;
But the great wave is coming on me now!
I see it towering high above the rest;
A world of eyes in its white glittering crest;
See how it climbs, calm in its might, and curls
Ready to clasp me in the wildering whirls,
And when it bursts, in darkness, for last breath,
I shall be fighting, grappled fast with Death.”
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Wet eyes; it moves in brightness far from him.
“I am like the hoary Mountain,
Gray with years, and very old;
And your life, a sprightly fountain,
Springs, and leaves me lone and cold;
Dancing, glancing on its way,
Down the valleys warm and gay.
Gray with years, and very old;
And your life, a sprightly fountain,
Springs, and leaves me lone and cold;
Dancing, glancing on its way,
Down the valleys warm and gay.
“There you go, Dear, singing, sparkling,
I can see your dawn begin;
While the night, around me darkling,
With its death-dews, shuts me in—
Hear you singing on your way
To the full and perfect day.”
The suffering passes into weariness;
I can see your dawn begin;
While the night, around me darkling,
With its death-dews, shuts me in—
Hear you singing on your way
To the full and perfect day.”
The weariness fades into kind content:
Faintly the tired heart flutters into stillness,
And he has done with Age, and Want, and Illness.
Gently he passed; the little Maiden wept;
Sank down, o'erwearied, by the dead, and slept,
With such a heavenly lustre on her face,
You might have fancied Angels in the place:
Companions through the day of our delight,
That watch as wingèd Sentries all the night.
| My Lyrical Life | |