 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
56
LETHE.
I had a dream of Lethe,—of the brink
Of sluggish waters, whither strong men bore
Dead pallid loves; while others, old and sore,
Brought but their tottering selves, in haste to drink:
Of sluggish waters, whither strong men bore
Dead pallid loves; while others, old and sore,
Brought but their tottering selves, in haste to drink:
And having drunk, they plunged, and seemed to sink
Their load of love or guilt for evermore,
Reaching with radiant brow the sunny shore
That lay beyond, no more to think and think.
Their load of love or guilt for evermore,
Reaching with radiant brow the sunny shore
That lay beyond, no more to think and think.
Oh, who will give me, chained to Memory's strand,
A draught of Lethe, salt with final tears,
Were it one drop within the hollow hand?
A draught of Lethe, salt with final tears,
Were it one drop within the hollow hand?
Oh, who will rid me of the wasted years,
The thought of life's fair structure vainly planned,
And each false hope that mocking reappears?
The thought of life's fair structure vainly planned,
And each false hope that mocking reappears?
| Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | |