 | The Vale of Arden and Other Poems |  |
87
TO THE NEGLECTED MUSE
High priestess of the temple where my soul
Would daily kneel!
When happier singers make appeal
For grace, and I
Neglect thy service, chide not, but condole
With thy poor votary.
Would daily kneel!
When happier singers make appeal
For grace, and I
Neglect thy service, chide not, but condole
With thy poor votary.
Forget thee?—ah! this morning, when soft flights
Of sea-born cloud
Sailed o'er the unregarding crowd
In that dense mart
Where I am bound, remembrance of thy rites
Was torment to my heart;
Of sea-born cloud
Sailed o'er the unregarding crowd
In that dense mart
Where I am bound, remembrance of thy rites
Was torment to my heart;
88
And now returning through the city's roar,
With toil opprest,
And marking how the liquid west
From cloud is free,
Save one smooth bank that seems the printless shore
Of some untraversed sea,
With toil opprest,
And marking how the liquid west
From cloud is free,
Save one smooth bank that seems the printless shore
Of some untraversed sea,
I groan to think how twilight slowly fills
The spacious vale
Where I would watch with thee, how pale
Thy star-lamp shines,
While sunset dies beyond the solemn hills
And nightfall stirs the pines.
The spacious vale
Where I would watch with thee, how pale
Thy star-lamp shines,
While sunset dies beyond the solemn hills
And nightfall stirs the pines.
Still would I seek thee by the stream which flows
Through that sweet shire,
Where he who lightliest touched the lyre
Is laid asleep,
Till with its sister flood it found repose
In slumber of the deep.
Through that sweet shire,
Where he who lightliest touched the lyre
Is laid asleep,
Till with its sister flood it found repose
In slumber of the deep.
89
There would I follow thee, would shut my ears
To pleasure's call;
But duty holdeth me in thrall,
My days rush by,
And rarely through the driving rack appears
A space of quiet sky.
To pleasure's call;
But duty holdeth me in thrall,
My days rush by,
And rarely through the driving rack appears
A space of quiet sky.
How should I sing when all my heart is kept
In bondage, vexed
With strife, and all my brain perplexed
With many a thread
Of tangled thought; I have no song; accept,
O Muse, my sighs instead.
In bondage, vexed
With strife, and all my brain perplexed
With many a thread
Of tangled thought; I have no song; accept,
O Muse, my sighs instead.
Forget thee?—if my fingers could unclasp
The lyre, and seize
Life's cup, and drain it to the lees,
Then might I set
My heart no more on joy beyond my grasp,
Ah! then I might forget.
The lyre, and seize
Life's cup, and drain it to the lees,
Then might I set
My heart no more on joy beyond my grasp,
Ah! then I might forget.
90
Once I had thought in that fair company
To find a place,
Who daily tend before thy face
The sacred fire;
But love and care with one another vie
To thrust me from the quire.
To find a place,
Who daily tend before thy face
The sacred fire;
But love and care with one another vie
To thrust me from the quire.
Yet sometimes 'mid the city's glare and grime,
Far from thy sight,
I stand thy silent acolyte;
Enough for me;
I ask not thy regard, but only time,
Dear saint, to worship thee.
Far from thy sight,
I stand thy silent acolyte;
Enough for me;
I ask not thy regard, but only time,
Dear saint, to worship thee.
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