The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir Edited by Thomas Aird: With A Memoir of the Author |
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 | The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir |  |
II.
Oh, when should we visit the graves of the dead,
To hallow the memory of days that are fled?
To hallow the memory of days that are fled?
At Noontide,—when the wide world round us
Busily hums with tumultuous strife,
And Fate with her viewless chain hath bound us
Within the enchanted ring of life;
'Tis then that the startled soul, recoiling,
Turns, sickening turns, from the noisy crowd,
And feels how empty is all our toiling,
When the certain finish is in the shroud.
Lone, lone—by the living all forsaken—
Bud the wild-flowers, and bloom around;
The fierce-eyed sunbeams no more awaken
From that dreamless slumber, sad and sound;
Then in the green fields flocks are bleating,
And neighs the proud steed beneath his palm,
To whose covert boughs the birds retreating,
In coolness chant their choral psalm.
Busily hums with tumultuous strife,
And Fate with her viewless chain hath bound us
Within the enchanted ring of life;
'Tis then that the startled soul, recoiling,
Turns, sickening turns, from the noisy crowd,
And feels how empty is all our toiling,
When the certain finish is in the shroud.
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Bud the wild-flowers, and bloom around;
The fierce-eyed sunbeams no more awaken
From that dreamless slumber, sad and sound;
Then in the green fields flocks are bleating,
And neighs the proud steed beneath his palm,
To whose covert boughs the birds retreating,
In coolness chant their choral psalm.
But alas! and alas!
Green grows the grass—
Like the waves we come, like the winds we pass!
Green grows the grass—
Like the waves we come, like the winds we pass!
| The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir | |