 | Nacoochee ; or, the beautiful star, with other Poems |  |
THE DYING POET.
“Truly my soul waiteth upon God; from him cometh my salvation.”
Psalms, 62: 1.
Psalms, 62: 1.
Within my heart there seems to burn
A fire that soon must cease!
To make my wandering soul return
To that bright world of peace!
A little while this storm shall rage,
And then 'twill all be o'er!
The cold wan light shall then engage
My burning heart no more!
A fire that soon must cease!
To make my wandering soul return
To that bright world of peace!
A little while this storm shall rage,
And then 'twill all be o'er!
The cold wan light shall then engage
My burning heart no more!
46
Within my heart there seems to beat
A pulse that soon must be
The precious food for worms to eat
Of wasting energy!
The fiery soul that fed on love,
From this worn frame must part!
And there, forever, like the dove,
Be mateless from the heart!
A pulse that soon must be
The precious food for worms to eat
Of wasting energy!
The fiery soul that fed on love,
From this worn frame must part!
And there, forever, like the dove,
Be mateless from the heart!
The dismal, shadowy vale that lies
In death's dark region there,
Is now between my tearful eyes
And heaven—where all is fair!
The place where there is neither pain
Nor wo would be the spot
Where this lone frame would rest in vain,
If there its home were not.
In death's dark region there,
Is now between my tearful eyes
And heaven—where all is fair!
The place where there is neither pain
Nor wo would be the spot
Where this lone frame would rest in vain,
If there its home were not.
I would not lay my body down
On this lone dreamless bed,
Were there no trophies in the crown
We wear beyond the dead!
And what were this cold mockery here?
If there were not away,
The glorious blessings of the year
Of God's eternal day!
On this lone dreamless bed,
Were there no trophies in the crown
We wear beyond the dead!
And what were this cold mockery here?
If there were not away,
The glorious blessings of the year
Of God's eternal day!
The deep, dark chaos of the night
That has no morrow near!
The cold, sad yearnings for the light
That never shall appear!
Oh! ask me not if this can be—
The stars would all be riven!
And thunders, from eternity,
Would silence all in heaven!
That has no morrow near!
The cold, sad yearnings for the light
That never shall appear!
Oh! ask me not if this can be—
The stars would all be riven!
And thunders, from eternity,
Would silence all in heaven!
47
I feel these aspirations are
But tokens from above,
To lift my parting spirit near
The paradigms of love!
The pensive star that reigns on high,
Lives also on the deep;
And thus my soul shall cleave the sky,
While here my heart must sleep!
But tokens from above,
To lift my parting spirit near
The paradigms of love!
The pensive star that reigns on high,
Lives also on the deep;
And thus my soul shall cleave the sky,
While here my heart must sleep!
The young year's youngest flowers that grew,
And garlanded my brow,
Are slain beneath the heavy dew,
And all are withered now!
The stricken heart that feels no more
The pain that once it felt,
Has, from its deepest chambers, tore
The tears that made it melt!
And garlanded my brow,
Are slain beneath the heavy dew,
And all are withered now!
The stricken heart that feels no more
The pain that once it felt,
Has, from its deepest chambers, tore
The tears that made it melt!
I need not linger here to free
The soul that cannot fill!
For though my food were as the sea,
My heart would hunger still!
I see that earth cannot suffice
To give my spirit rest;
I now will feed upon the skies,
And sing among the blest.
The soul that cannot fill!
For though my food were as the sea,
My heart would hunger still!
I see that earth cannot suffice
To give my spirit rest;
I now will feed upon the skies,
And sing among the blest.
| Nacoochee ; or, the beautiful star, with other Poems | |