 | Songs of Doubt and Dream (Poems) |  |
XIII.—Death's Plaint.
I dreamed of Death, a maid with spotless gear,
With slumberous eyes, with bosom warm and deep
As though some tired head there might sink to sleep
In rapturous rest unflawed by one least fear.
“Oh, surely,” I said to her, “no cause were here
For all the eternal terrors that o'ersweep
Humanity, and that oft so whelm and steep
Its last weak hours in torment so austere!”
With slumberous eyes, with bosom warm and deep
As though some tired head there might sink to sleep
In rapturous rest unflawed by one least fear.
“Oh, surely,” I said to her, “no cause were here
For all the eternal terrors that o'ersweep
Humanity, and that oft so whelm and steep
Its last weak hours in torment so austere!”
“Ah, true,” with pale and beauteous lips Death grieved;
“I bring man but the oblivious boon he needs,..
Yet note thou my dim realm where cypress waves;”
Then following her sad gesture, I perceived
The myriad spectres of man's own void creeds,
That crawled like haggard ghouls among his graves!
“I bring man but the oblivious boon he needs,..
148
Then following her sad gesture, I perceived
The myriad spectres of man's own void creeds,
That crawled like haggard ghouls among his graves!
| Songs of Doubt and Dream (Poems) | |