The Fall of the Leaf And Other Poems. By Charles Bucke ... Fourth Edition |
 |
 |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. | VIII. |
| IX. |
|
|
|
|
 | The Fall of the Leaf |  |
VIII.
But mark the husband!—see his drooping head:
See—how he gazes on the fatal bed!
Alas!—those eyes—those beauteous eyes—are closed,
On which his widow'd heart so late reposed!—
In silent agony he pitying stands,
Bends o'er her snowy frame, and wrings his nerveless hands.
See—how he gazes on the fatal bed!
Alas!—those eyes—those beauteous eyes—are closed,
On which his widow'd heart so late reposed!—
In silent agony he pitying stands,
Bends o'er her snowy frame, and wrings his nerveless hands.
Convulsed he bends!—No tear bedews his eye!
He sees the lovely, lifeless, victim lie
In Death's pale stillness!—On her faded cheek
He prints a sacred kiss, and bids her speak!
Alas!—she hears him not.—He calls again:
“My angel, speak!—nay—speak!”—He begs in vain.
“Dead?—No—she sleeps!—oh!—leave her to her rest!
“There—leave her—leave her:—Let the saint be blest.
“Breathe softly;—lest her slumbering visions fly—
“A saint so pure as this can never die!”
Thus he, in accents falt'ring, wild with dread:—
He will not yet believe his angel can be dead!
But soon—too soon—he sees Death's fatal snare!
Dumb—motionless—he sinks!—an emblem of despair!
He sees the lovely, lifeless, victim lie
In Death's pale stillness!—On her faded cheek
He prints a sacred kiss, and bids her speak!
Alas!—she hears him not.—He calls again:
“My angel, speak!—nay—speak!”—He begs in vain.
28
“There—leave her—leave her:—Let the saint be blest.
“Breathe softly;—lest her slumbering visions fly—
“A saint so pure as this can never die!”
Thus he, in accents falt'ring, wild with dread:—
He will not yet believe his angel can be dead!
But soon—too soon—he sees Death's fatal snare!
Dumb—motionless—he sinks!—an emblem of despair!
| The Fall of the Leaf | |