 | The poems of Trumbull Stickney |  |
95
[As a sad man, when evenings grayer grow]
As a sad man, when evenings grayer grow,Desires his violin, and call to call
Tunes with unhappy heart the interval;
Then after prelude, suffering his bow,
Along the crying strings his fingers fall
To some persuasion born of long ago,
While mixed in higher melodies the low
Dull song of his life 's heard no more at all:
So with thy picture I alone devise,
Passing on thy uncoloured face the tone
Of memory's autumnal paradise;
And all myself for yearning weary lies
Fallen to but thy shadow, near upon
The void motion of eternities.
[1898]
| The poems of Trumbull Stickney | |