 | Diana's Looking Glass and Other Poems by Charles D. Bell |  |
THE TWILIGHT.
There lieth a silence on all the house,
A stillness as of the tomb:
Nothing is stirring—not even a mouse,
In the wainscoting of the room.
Naught is heard but the rain
'Gainst the window-pane,
Like the sigh of a soul not cleansed from its stain.
A stillness as of the tomb:
Nothing is stirring—not even a mouse,
In the wainscoting of the room.
Naught is heard but the rain
'Gainst the window-pane,
Like the sigh of a soul not cleansed from its stain.
65
And here as I sit by the light of the fire,
Far into the night alone,
Watching the flame as in many a spire
It curls from the old hearth-stone,
Memories come and they go,—
Now they ebb,—now they flow,
Borne in waves from the shores of the long-ago.
Far into the night alone,
Watching the flame as in many a spire
It curls from the old hearth-stone,
Memories come and they go,—
Now they ebb,—now they flow,
Borne in waves from the shores of the long-ago.
And many a face of the dead and dear
Looks across from that distant shore,
And many a voice is heard in mine ear,
Now silent for evermore.
And I dream by the blaze
Of the far, sweet days,
Which pass in their glory before my gaze.
Looks across from that distant shore,
And many a voice is heard in mine ear,
Now silent for evermore.
And I dream by the blaze
Of the far, sweet days,
Which pass in their glory before my gaze.
The fair golden times are with me again,
When I roamed the fields a boy;
When I sang to the echoes that answered the strain
With notes of a mocking joy:
Days of brightness they were,
Not a cloud or a care,
A May-time with blossom and beauty fair.
When I roamed the fields a boy;
When I sang to the echoes that answered the strain
With notes of a mocking joy:
Days of brightness they were,
Not a cloud or a care,
A May-time with blossom and beauty fair.
The hedges once more with the thorn are white
And the breezes about me play;
The green meadow-grass with the dew is bright
And scents are blown from the hay:
While the clear little stream,
With a flash and a gleam,
Sounds sweet as some melody heard through a dream.
And the breezes about me play;
The green meadow-grass with the dew is bright
And scents are blown from the hay:
66
With a flash and a gleam,
Sounds sweet as some melody heard through a dream.
I wander again 'neath the beechen shade,
Where the sunbeams glint and glide,
And out to the pleasant and open glade
With daisies and buttercups pied:
And the blue pigeons coo,
As they used to do,
While a mate for their nest they tenderly woo.
Where the sunbeams glint and glide,
And out to the pleasant and open glade
With daisies and buttercups pied:
And the blue pigeons coo,
As they used to do,
While a mate for their nest they tenderly woo.
And as loved ones return with the olden charms
From the silent and ghostly land,
I reach forth my longing and empty arms,
To the places whereon they stand:
For they come in the light
Of the embers bright,
To talk in low tones through the shadows of night.
From the silent and ghostly land,
I reach forth my longing and empty arms,
To the places whereon they stand:
For they come in the light
Of the embers bright,
To talk in low tones through the shadows of night.
Thus I muse and I dream by the fire alone,
Through the hours to the morning grey;
And I feel that the light from my life has gone,
And its colour pass'd from the day:
But anon, I grow calm,
Hope sheddeth her balm,
And God in the night gives a song and a psalm.
Through the hours to the morning grey;
And I feel that the light from my life has gone,
And its colour pass'd from the day:
But anon, I grow calm,
Hope sheddeth her balm,
And God in the night gives a song and a psalm.
67
Though the present be dark, I know that the dawn
Will break, with its beauty and bloom,
That soon I shall hear from the dewy lawn
The songs of birds in my room:
And my heart will sing too,
With a music as true,
As when smiles were many and tears were few.
Will break, with its beauty and bloom,
That soon I shall hear from the dewy lawn
The songs of birds in my room:
And my heart will sing too,
With a music as true,
As when smiles were many and tears were few.
I think:—God is Love: He takes, but He lives
To repair any loss He hath sent;
As in nature, His hand ever tenderly gives
The green lichen to cover the rent:
Spring cometh again,
With its sun and its rain,
And summer with flowers to gladden the plain.
To repair any loss He hath sent;
As in nature, His hand ever tenderly gives
The green lichen to cover the rent:
Spring cometh again,
With its sun and its rain,
And summer with flowers to gladden the plain.
| Diana's Looking Glass and Other Poems by Charles D. Bell | |