 | The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton |  |
28
ON MY YOUTHFUL LETTERS.
Look at the leaves I gather up in trembling,—
Little to see, and sere, and time-bewasted,
But they are other than the tree can bear now,
For they are mine!
Little to see, and sere, and time-bewasted,
But they are other than the tree can bear now,
For they are mine!
Deep as the tumult in an archèd sea-cave,
Out of the Past these antiquated voices
Fall on my heart's ear; I must listen to them,
For they are mine!
Out of the Past these antiquated voices
Fall on my heart's ear; I must listen to them,
For they are mine!
Whose is this hand that wheresoe'er it wanders,
Traces in light words thoughts that come as lightly?
Who was the king of all this soul-dominion?
I? Was it mine?
Traces in light words thoughts that come as lightly?
Who was the king of all this soul-dominion?
I? Was it mine?
With what a healthful appetite of spirit,
Sits he at Life's inevitable banquet,
Tasting delight in every thing before him!
Could this be mine?
Sits he at Life's inevitable banquet,
Tasting delight in every thing before him!
Could this be mine?
29
See! how he twists his coronals of fancy,
Out of all blossoms, knowing not the poison,—
How his young eye is meshed in the enchantment!
And it was mine!
Out of all blossoms, knowing not the poison,—
How his young eye is meshed in the enchantment!
And it was mine!
What, is this I?—this miserable complex,
Losing and gaining, only knit together
By the ever-bursting fibres of remembrance,—
What is this mine?
Losing and gaining, only knit together
By the ever-bursting fibres of remembrance,—
What is this mine?
Surely we are by feeling as by knowing,—
Changing our hearts our being changes with them;
Take them away,—these spectres of my boyhood,
They are not mine.
Changing our hearts our being changes with them;
Take them away,—these spectres of my boyhood,
They are not mine.
1838.
| The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton | |