 | Poems |  |
77
THE COMPLAINT.
Wing, sacred Hours! wing swift your arrowy flight
From highest Heaven's unnamed, eternal throne,
And, through the silence of the vast Unknown,
Sweep the dark Future into present light!
Ye! who now reach your goal, and to the world,
Bearing new destinies, will brief appear,
I, watchful of your advent, seem to hear
The rustling of your rapid wings unfurled;
Come, with the measure of his Fate to each!
To one ye bear a blessing, and the breath
Of Life: to one the bane of bitter Death:
Ye bring the dying—dead December's bier,
For lo! with January you are here,
And in your bosom lies the baby-year.
From highest Heaven's unnamed, eternal throne,
And, through the silence of the vast Unknown,
Sweep the dark Future into present light!
Ye! who now reach your goal, and to the world,
Bearing new destinies, will brief appear,
I, watchful of your advent, seem to hear
The rustling of your rapid wings unfurled;
Come, with the measure of his Fate to each!
To one ye bear a blessing, and the breath
Of Life: to one the bane of bitter Death:
Ye bring the dying—dead December's bier,
For lo! with January you are here,
And in your bosom lies the baby-year.
Kathleen!—(a ceaseless dirge I sing!)—
Kathleen, thy seraph soul doth know
The New-year to my heart can bring
No comfort—only lengthened woe!
Unless from earth it set my Spirit free,
Void of thy Life it comes, and, void of Thee,
It may not mend the change thy loss hath wrought,
Nor from my fancy chase this bitter thought,—
That I no more, in this my black eclipse,
Shall see thee, hear thy voice, for ever mute!
Touch the rare riches of thy fragrant lips,
Nor even view their fair, forbidden fruit,
And contemplate the kiss I dare not cull!
Oh! World, shorn of thy lustre, dark and dull,
Dark grave, dull dungeon, dull, dark pit that holds
Me living, and entombs my dead desires,
What hateful thought thy sight abhorred inspires!
For ever unto me, left desolate here,
The mute, stoled hours a funeral march will lead,
Day unto day, and month to month succeed,
Bearing my dead Life forwards on a bier:
Void of all change of motion or of speed,
Through all the seasons of the joyless year!
Blow then, ye vernal breezes, and once more
Free the chilled Earth (less cold, less dead than I!)
From lifeless apathy;
Come, Spring! the plains and valleys to restore
To beauty: touch them with thy blessed feet!
While fair beneath thy smile the smitten flowers
(As erst my heart beneath a smile more sweet!)
Break into blossom round about thy bowers!
The air breathes love! the birds low carols sing,
In amorous pairs, on every happy spray!
Ah me! they serve, they only serve to sting
My heart with memory of those vernal hours,
When, plighting troth, we were as blest as they;
The nightingale loud trills his passionate lay!
Not wilder notes he sings than once I sung,
When loud and free, inspired by eager Love,
Thy name I chaunted through the merry grove,
And to thy praises all the woodland rung!
Annual to him his vernal note returns,
To woo a fresh mate under fresher skies,
But never more to these dull lips shall rise
The notes of my first passion, and my last!
Flown is my mate: my latest spring-tide past:
And past the voice of my once tender strains,
While in my heart eternal Winter reigns!
Kathleen, thy seraph soul doth know
The New-year to my heart can bring
No comfort—only lengthened woe!
78
Void of thy Life it comes, and, void of Thee,
It may not mend the change thy loss hath wrought,
Nor from my fancy chase this bitter thought,—
That I no more, in this my black eclipse,
Shall see thee, hear thy voice, for ever mute!
Touch the rare riches of thy fragrant lips,
Nor even view their fair, forbidden fruit,
And contemplate the kiss I dare not cull!
Oh! World, shorn of thy lustre, dark and dull,
Dark grave, dull dungeon, dull, dark pit that holds
Me living, and entombs my dead desires,
What hateful thought thy sight abhorred inspires!
For ever unto me, left desolate here,
The mute, stoled hours a funeral march will lead,
Day unto day, and month to month succeed,
Bearing my dead Life forwards on a bier:
Void of all change of motion or of speed,
Through all the seasons of the joyless year!
Blow then, ye vernal breezes, and once more
Free the chilled Earth (less cold, less dead than I!)
From lifeless apathy;
Come, Spring! the plains and valleys to restore
To beauty: touch them with thy blessed feet!
While fair beneath thy smile the smitten flowers
(As erst my heart beneath a smile more sweet!)
Break into blossom round about thy bowers!
79
In amorous pairs, on every happy spray!
Ah me! they serve, they only serve to sting
My heart with memory of those vernal hours,
When, plighting troth, we were as blest as they;
The nightingale loud trills his passionate lay!
Not wilder notes he sings than once I sung,
When loud and free, inspired by eager Love,
Thy name I chaunted through the merry grove,
And to thy praises all the woodland rung!
Annual to him his vernal note returns,
To woo a fresh mate under fresher skies,
But never more to these dull lips shall rise
The notes of my first passion, and my last!
Flown is my mate: my latest spring-tide past:
And past the voice of my once tender strains,
While in my heart eternal Winter reigns!
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