 | Poems Lyrical and Dramatic |  |
187
LOVE DEFERRED.
Would that I ne'er had clasped that breast,
Nor caught from it contagious fire!
It is a spring of fierce unrest,
A furnace live of mad desire.
Nor caught from it contagious fire!
It is a spring of fierce unrest,
A furnace live of mad desire.
My days are a perpetual pain,
And scarce I dare to sleep by night,
But brooding o'er the fire remain
Till almost breaks the morning light;
And scarce I dare to sleep by night,
But brooding o'er the fire remain
Till almost breaks the morning light;
Then early from a death-like sleep
Arise again to pine and brood,
And vainly yearn once more to weep,
As in my childhood's days I could.
Arise again to pine and brood,
And vainly yearn once more to weep,
As in my childhood's days I could.
In vain the torture sweet I spurn
For toil which now no pleasure yields:
Red embers in my bosom burn,
And drive me to the streams and fields.
For toil which now no pleasure yields:
188
And drive me to the streams and fields.
And there with aimless wandering gait
I totter ghost-like to and fro,
And back return in darkness late
When none my reddened lids may know.
I totter ghost-like to and fro,
And back return in darkness late
When none my reddened lids may know.
I grow dark-cheeked and hollow-eyed,
My stature straight begins to bend;
But scorn of man the wound would hide,
And still shall hide it to the end.
My stature straight begins to bend;
But scorn of man the wound would hide,
And still shall hide it to the end.
I cannot talk, or laugh, or jest,
And hear not what around is said;
A weary languor numbs my breast,
I wish myself insane or dead.
And hear not what around is said;
A weary languor numbs my breast,
I wish myself insane or dead.
The sense is lost of right and wrong:
Thy virtue is my bitter death.
Yet would I not my days prolong,
Since but thine arms can save my breath.
Thy virtue is my bitter death.
Yet would I not my days prolong,
Since but thine arms can save my breath.
| Poems Lyrical and Dramatic | |