 | Poems |  |
TO MY FUTURE.
What are ye, dim in my dreaming?
Vast and mystic each appears,
Dark and shapeless to my seeming;
Ye, I know, my coming years;
Awful eyes through darkness gleaming,
Soundless tongues which fancy hears,
Ye to be, what to my seeming
Utter ye, ye phantom years?
Vast and mystic each appears,
Dark and shapeless to my seeming;
Ye, I know, my coming years;
433
Soundless tongues which fancy hears,
Ye to be, what to my seeming
Utter ye, ye phantom years?
Woe and weal, the unbreathed morrows,
Your dread offspring, t'wards me bear;
Joys and hopes and fears and sorrows,
Bliss, perchance—perchance, despair;
With mortality's weak trembling,
The may-be my stilled soul hears,
While life's voices, yours resembling,
Ope your lips, ye future years.
Your dread offspring, t'wards me bear;
Joys and hopes and fears and sorrows,
Bliss, perchance—perchance, despair;
With mortality's weak trembling,
The may-be my stilled soul hears,
While life's voices, yours resembling,
Ope your lips, ye future years.
Comes not answer to my seeking?
Come not from your lips dear tones?
With your voices, Hope seems speaking;
All my heart her influence owns.
All life yearns for, book-blessed leisure,
Fame, pursued afar from fears,
Life, to all I love, but pleasure,
These, she tells ye bring ye years.
Come not from your lips dear tones?
With your voices, Hope seems speaking;
All my heart her influence owns.
All life yearns for, book-blessed leisure,
Fame, pursued afar from fears,
Life, to all I love, but pleasure,
These, she tells ye bring ye years.
Now, alas, my soul to darken
Through your lips, speaks not wild Fear?
Pale, I shudder, as I hearken
Unto all she bids me hear;
Of what tell you? Care and sorrow,
Sin, remorse, and hopeless tears?
Did ye breathe of death some morrow
'Mongst my loved ones, O ye years?
Through your lips, speaks not wild Fear?
Pale, I shudder, as I hearken
Unto all she bids me hear;
Of what tell you? Care and sorrow,
Sin, remorse, and hopeless tears?
Did ye breathe of death some morrow
'Mongst my loved ones, O ye years?
That dread secret could ye utter
Which my shuddering heart would know!
Soon or late, your dread lips mutter
Death's dark doom to all below;
All in vain your forms I'd number,
Bearing towards me smiles and tears;
Which shall touch my eyes to slumber,
Of ye all, ye unknown years?
Which my shuddering heart would know!
Soon or late, your dread lips mutter
Death's dark doom to all below;
All in vain your forms I'd number,
Bearing towards me smiles and tears;
Which shall touch my eyes to slumber,
Of ye all, ye unknown years?
434
Ah, no sound your lips are giving;
Mortal ear no utterance drinks
From your chained tongues; to the living
Ye are as the Desert Sphinx;
As the stony Memnon each is;
Through you sound our joys, our fears;
From our dreams alone your speech is,
O ye shadowy coming years.
Mortal ear no utterance drinks
From your chained tongues; to the living
Ye are as the Desert Sphinx;
As the stony Memnon each is;
Through you sound our joys, our fears;
From our dreams alone your speech is,
O ye shadowy coming years.
Could ye speak, even as God bade ye,
Must ye utter the to-be;
But the words of Him who made ye
Could ye breathe, O years, to me;
Ye are but dumb servants bearing
His good gifts of smiles and tears,
As is best, amongst us sharing
What he wills to us, ye years.
Must ye utter the to-be;
But the words of Him who made ye
Could ye breathe, O years, to me;
Ye are but dumb servants bearing
His good gifts of smiles and tears,
As is best, amongst us sharing
What he wills to us, ye years.
But ye are not, save to seeming;
False creations of man's eye,
Ye exist but in our dreaming;
Nought is, save eternity;
Death, our life beyond life giving,
Shows what shadows are the fears
With which, shades, ye shake the living
Who die not like ye, ye years.
False creations of man's eye,
Ye exist but in our dreaming;
Nought is, save eternity;
Death, our life beyond life giving,
Shows what shadows are the fears
With which, shades, ye shake the living
Who die not like ye, ye years.
| Poems | |