 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
MY LAND.
I walk 'neath sunless skies; by flowerless ways
With failing feet and heavy heart I go, —
Through leafless trees vague winds of twilight blow.
A strange, still land this is: ghosts of old days
Rise up to meet me; a beloved, dead face
Emerges on my path; or sweet and low
The accents of some voice I used to know
Fall on my heart, where only sorrow stays.
With failing feet and heavy heart I go, —
Through leafless trees vague winds of twilight blow.
A strange, still land this is: ghosts of old days
Rise up to meet me; a beloved, dead face
Emerges on my path; or sweet and low
The accents of some voice I used to know
Fall on my heart, where only sorrow stays.
My ghostly Land, wherethro', myself a ghost,
I journey ever toward that stranger strand
By which no ships from this world ever coast, —
Ah, there shall I remember, still, my Land?
Nay, God, — if any God indeed there be, —
Grant me, in Death, release from Memory.
I journey ever toward that stranger strand
By which no ships from this world ever coast, —
Ah, there shall I remember, still, my Land?
Nay, God, — if any God indeed there be, —
Grant me, in Death, release from Memory.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |