Holy of holies Confessions of an anarchist [by J. E. Barlas] |
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27
XXIII.
[So thou art gone, and I am left alone.]
So thou art gone, and I am left alone.Far seas divide us; night familiar hears
My bitter curses, and my bitter tears
Weigh down my heart, now hard and heavy grown
Like a dull wave-worn mass of lifeless stone,
On which the whole salt sea of sorrow rears
Its bulk of brine: day now like night appears,
And night's void darkness swallows up my groan.
Ah in that brighter country where thou art,
Dost thou, whiles walking through the meadows green,
In sun or starlight, call to mind my form,
My wasted form where beauty hath no part?
Stoop queenly woman! In God's presence e'en,
Seraphs forget no heart where love is warm.
Jan. 26th, 1886.
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