Thomas Cole's poetry the collected poems of America's foremost painter of the Hudson River School reflecting his feelings for nature and the romantic spirit of the Nineteenth Century |
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 | Thomas Cole's poetry |  |
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13.
Written on my Birthday, Feb. 1, 1830
Into the deep of the eternal past,
Another year hath sunk and what alas?
Is saved from the wreck, but recollections dim
Of unripe joys, and fears and hopes vague
And evanescent as the morning mists—
Another year hath sunk and what alas?
Is saved from the wreck, but recollections dim
Of unripe joys, and fears and hopes vague
And evanescent as the morning mists—
Another year is past! Where are the joys
That hope had wreathed round the year like flowers,
Last Natal day? Lov'd shadows they are fled—
That hope had wreathed round the year like flowers,
Last Natal day? Lov'd shadows they are fled—
O fickle Fortune—as the rainbow deck'd,
Like it forever flying when pursued,
Unjust. How oft into the lap of sloth
Thy treasures rich are cast—And thou bright Fame,
Through bitter storms hath led; and in the night
When wearied nature has demanded sleep
Hath waked me up to gaze on thee. How cold
Thy beams! How distant is thy sphere!
Did ever lover with so chaste a flame
And so devoted meet with such ill success—
Like it forever flying when pursued,
Unjust. How oft into the lap of sloth
Thy treasures rich are cast—And thou bright Fame,
Through bitter storms hath led; and in the night
When wearied nature has demanded sleep
Hath waked me up to gaze on thee. How cold
Thy beams! How distant is thy sphere!
Did ever lover with so chaste a flame
And so devoted meet with such ill success—
Ye children of my fancy and my care!
Neglected and despised and careless cast
Into the shade, unmark'd amid the crowd
That have a name; or gaudy force, the gaze
And wonder of the ignorant and vain—
Are ye devoid of beauty? Can no eye
Delight in you but mine? perhaps too fond
My fancy pictures scenes and desires
They on the canvas glow and live, where naught
But formal insipidity exists—
Neglected and despised and careless cast
Into the shade, unmark'd amid the crowd
That have a name; or gaudy force, the gaze
And wonder of the ignorant and vain—
Are ye devoid of beauty? Can no eye
Delight in you but mine? perhaps too fond
My fancy pictures scenes and desires
They on the canvas glow and live, where naught
But formal insipidity exists—
How oft the voice of praise breaks forth o'er works
More fortunate than mine and there descants
How skillfully the orb hath mimick'd nature
How every tent and form is beautiful and true—
Then pass me by as though I ne'er had drank
One draught at the great universal spring—
Ye mountains, woods, rocks, and impetuous streams
Ye mantling heav'ns—Speak—speak for me!
Have I not held communion close with you
And like to one who is enamoured, gazed
Intensely on your ever varying charms,
And has it been in vain?
More fortunate than mine and there descants
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How every tent and form is beautiful and true—
Then pass me by as though I ne'er had drank
One draught at the great universal spring—
Ye mountains, woods, rocks, and impetuous streams
Ye mantling heav'ns—Speak—speak for me!
Have I not held communion close with you
And like to one who is enamoured, gazed
Intensely on your ever varying charms,
And has it been in vain?
| Thomas Cole's poetry | |