 | Poems: Second Series |  |
76
TO TIME.
What wilt thou bring me, O Time?
Answer, O life's hereafter!
Answer, O hidden years!—
Laughter and sunlit tears—
Weeping and bitter laughter.
Answer, O life's hereafter!
Answer, O hidden years!—
Laughter and sunlit tears—
Weeping and bitter laughter.
What wilt thou bring me, O Time?
Visions of Beauty and Truth
Beckoning me on till they wane,
As life with its drizzling rain
Quenches the ardour of youth.
Visions of Beauty and Truth
Beckoning me on till they wane,
As life with its drizzling rain
Quenches the ardour of youth.
What wilt thou bring me, O Time?
Hope that is born to die—
Love that breaks into ashes,
Joy with its lightning flashes
Streaking a leaden sky.
Hope that is born to die—
Love that breaks into ashes,
Joy with its lightning flashes
Streaking a leaden sky.
What wilt thou bring me, O Time?
The host of the heart's desires—
Lust or the love of God—
The sky or the clayey clod—
Sunlight or phantom fires.
The host of the heart's desires—
77
The sky or the clayey clod—
Sunlight or phantom fires.
What wilt thou bring me, O Time?
Work in the noonday heat,
Work on the rock and the sand,
Till the heart grows hard as the hand,
Or bleeds as the bleeding feet.
Work in the noonday heat,
Work on the rock and the sand,
Till the heart grows hard as the hand,
Or bleeds as the bleeding feet.
What wilt thou bring me, O Time?
Mazes of dazzling light—
Mazes of whirling sound,
Till the solid earth swims round,
And we long for the lonely night.
Mazes of dazzling light—
Mazes of whirling sound,
Till the solid earth swims round,
And we long for the lonely night.
What wilt thou bring me, O Time?
Haply an hour of peace—
Of weird and expectant calm,
When the night dews fall like balm,
And the sounds of the noonday cease.
Haply an hour of peace—
Of weird and expectant calm,
When the night dews fall like balm,
And the sounds of the noonday cease.
What wilt thou bring me, O Time?
A twilight of creeping chill,
When the fog steals up from the meadows,
And, folded in dusky shadows,
The earth lies dewy and still.
A twilight of creeping chill,
When the fog steals up from the meadows,
And, folded in dusky shadows,
The earth lies dewy and still.
78
What wilt thou bring me, O Time?
Spasms of strangled breath—
White mist and a shiver of wind,
And—sweet to the weary and blind—
Thine icy kisses, O death.
Spasms of strangled breath—
White mist and a shiver of wind,
And—sweet to the weary and blind—
Thine icy kisses, O death.
| Poems: Second Series | |