Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne Complete edition with numerous illustrations |
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| 26. | XXVI.
CONSUMMATUM EST. |
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 | Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne |  |
XXVI.
CONSUMMATUM EST.
I've done with all the world can give,
Whate'er its kind or measure.
(O Christ! what paltry lives we live
If toil be lord, or pleasure!).
Alas! I only yearn for sleep,
Calm rest for fevered riot—
The sacred sleep, the shadows deep,
Of death's majestic quiet.
Whate'er its kind or measure.
(O Christ! what paltry lives we live
If toil be lord, or pleasure!).
Alas! I only yearn for sleep,
Calm rest for fevered riot—
The sacred sleep, the shadows deep,
Of death's majestic quiet.
I've done with all our earth-life lends—
False hopes and wild ambitions,
Brilliant beginnings, futile ends,
And long-postponed fruitions,
Those hollow shows dissembling truth,
Vain myths that mock the real,
The dreary wrecks of peace and youth
Above a crushed ideal.
False hopes and wild ambitions,
Brilliant beginnings, futile ends,
And long-postponed fruitions,
Those hollow shows dissembling truth,
Vain myths that mock the real,
The dreary wrecks of peace and youth
Above a crushed ideal.
I've done with heavenly dreams that wane
At touch of earth-born dawnings,
With fervid passion, useless pain,
Brave aims and dim forewarnings;
I've done with alien tears or smiles,
Past days and vague to-morrows;
I've done with earth's unhallowed wiles,
Brief joys and helpless sorrows.
At touch of earth-born dawnings,
With fervid passion, useless pain,
Brave aims and dim forewarnings;
I've done with alien tears or smiles,
Past days and vague to-morrows;
I've done with earth's unhallowed wiles,
Brief joys and helpless sorrows.
I've done with compacts sealed in dust,
Dull cares that overweighed me,
With promise of the Judas-trust,
That, while it kissed, betrayed me;
With all save love, whose matchless face
Midmost a life's undoing
Smiles in its tender angel's grace
To sanctify the ruin.
Dull cares that overweighed me,
With promise of the Judas-trust,
That, while it kissed, betrayed me;
With all save love, whose matchless face
Midmost a life's undoing
Smiles in its tender angel's grace
To sanctify the ruin.
337
I've done with all beneath the stars,
O world! so wanly fleeting!
How long against time's ruthless bars
Have the soul's wings been beating,
Till even the soul but yearns for sleep,
Calm rest for fevered riot—
The sacred sleep, the shadows deep,
Of death's majestic quiet!
O world! so wanly fleeting!
How long against time's ruthless bars
Have the soul's wings been beating,
Till even the soul but yearns for sleep,
Calm rest for fevered riot—
The sacred sleep, the shadows deep,
Of death's majestic quiet!
| Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne | |