 | The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard |  |
158
THE DOMINION OF PAIN.
In all that live, endure, and die,
In every vision of the brain,
On Love's fond lip, in Pleasure's eye,
The hermit's pulse, the warrior's vein;
In hearts that pause and plunge again,
Frail victims of the passing hour,—
We find thy far dominion, Pain;
We trace the footprints of thy power.
Though some are washed away by tears,
Whilst some survive the march of years.
In every vision of the brain,
On Love's fond lip, in Pleasure's eye,
The hermit's pulse, the warrior's vein;
In hearts that pause and plunge again,
Frail victims of the passing hour,—
We find thy far dominion, Pain;
We trace the footprints of thy power.
Though some are washed away by tears,
Whilst some survive the march of years.
Who cannot weep was never blest;
Would all were woeless that have wept;
Would all that heaves might be at rest—
And sleep might come to those that slept!
My soul hath long its vigils kept
O'er sense of pain and dreams of death,
And knows not why its course hath crept
Thus idly on for feverish breath.
Whilst hour by hour it longs to sleep,
I feel it doomed to watch and weep.
Would all were woeless that have wept;
Would all that heaves might be at rest—
And sleep might come to those that slept!
My soul hath long its vigils kept
O'er sense of pain and dreams of death,
And knows not why its course hath crept
Thus idly on for feverish breath.
Whilst hour by hour it longs to sleep,
I feel it doomed to watch and weep.
| The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard | |