 | The Poetical Works of Sydney Dobell |  |
SCENE XXI.
The Vacant Study.Through the door the voice of Amy.
Amy.
That I might only die and be at rest,
That I might die and sleep the sleep of peace,
That I might die and close these eyes within,
These eyes that start and stare so hot with life,
And mad-wide while the outer lids are sealed!
That I might die and know the balm of death,
And feel but as I died what is not pain.
That I might die and sleep the sleep of peace,
That I might die and close these eyes within,
These eyes that start and stare so hot with life,
And mad-wide while the outer lids are sealed!
That I might die and know the balm of death,
And feel but as I died what is not pain.
The summer is a load upon my sense,
A pile of durance builded over head;
The battening shadow, and the fattening earth,
And all the thick abundance of the trees!
A pile of durance builded over head;
The battening shadow, and the fattening earth,
And all the thick abundance of the trees!
Fall, Summer! rend the cerements of my tomb!
If I might know that aught that binds can break!
If I might struggle thro' my choking banks,
And cheat me with the transport that I rise!
Alas, thou fallest, and I am not free!
Alas, alas, thou canst not let me forth!
Alas, alas, the grave-clothes, not the grave!
Alas, alas, the vaulted adamant,
And dolour of inexorable things!
If I might know that aught that binds can break!
If I might struggle thro' my choking banks,
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Alas, thou fallest, and I am not free!
Alas, alas, thou canst not let me forth!
Alas, alas, the grave-clothes, not the grave!
Alas, alas, the vaulted adamant,
And dolour of inexorable things!
| The Poetical Works of Sydney Dobell | |