 | Judith, Esther, and other poems |  |
“'TIS MIDNIGHT.”
I cannot close mine eyes to night
Yet, if 'tis pain forbids,
'Tis pain so woven with delight,
I well could wait till morning bright,
With light unwearied lids.
Yet, if 'tis pain forbids,
'Tis pain so woven with delight,
I well could wait till morning bright,
With light unwearied lids.
Yet, very lonely is the hour,
So deathly still and drear,
That were my heart less full, from bower
Of yon black wood, wild Fancy's power
Would call the spectre here.
So deathly still and drear,
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Of yon black wood, wild Fancy's power
Would call the spectre here.
How often have I shuddering lay
“On such a night as this”
And thought when morning swept away
The trembling dews, advancing gay,
To see her smile were bliss.
“On such a night as this”
And thought when morning swept away
The trembling dews, advancing gay,
To see her smile were bliss.
But that was when my childish heart
That pleasure found in fear,
Throbbed o'er old tale of magic art,
And almost saw “the infant's heart”
In bubbling caldron near.
That pleasure found in fear,
Throbbed o'er old tale of magic art,
And almost saw “the infant's heart”
In bubbling caldron near.
Oh! never, never could I brook
The painless, joyless hour,
If't could excite I loved the book,
And while my frame with terror shook,
Could bless it, forceful power.
The painless, joyless hour,
If't could excite I loved the book,
And while my frame with terror shook,
Could bless it, forceful power.
But now by bosom's inmost cell
Is filled, dear thought, by thee,
Ah! should I—must I bid farewell!
To thee? Too blissfull, far, to dwell
With one so sad as me—
Is filled, dear thought, by thee,
Ah! should I—must I bid farewell!
To thee? Too blissfull, far, to dwell
With one so sad as me—
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No, no, I will not bid thee part
Thou'rt innocent as dear!
And wild and hopeless as thou art,
While thou canst hide thee in my heart,
Its waste will seem less drear
Thou'rt innocent as dear!
And wild and hopeless as thou art,
While thou canst hide thee in my heart,
Its waste will seem less drear
| Judith, Esther, and other poems | |