Madeline With other poems and parables: By Thomas Gordon Hake |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
XXV. |
XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
XL. |
XLI. |
XLII. |
XLIII. |
XLIV. |
XLV. | XLV.
ON DESPAIR. |
XLVI. |
XLVII. |
XLVIII. |
XLIX. |
L. |
LI. |
LII. |
LIII. |
LIV. |
LV. |
LVI. |
LVII. |
LVIII. |
LIX. |
LX. |
LXI. |
LXII. |
LXIII. |
LXIV. |
LXV. |
Madeline | ||
252
XLV. ON DESPAIR.
The moon is up, a haze is in the air,Dull looks the way to all beyond the spot;
No eye can scale the mist to regions fair,
Though oft beyond has flight of fancy shot.
The mind is up, but hazy is the brain;
Its choked-up passion lingers at its source,
Hope stretches out her wings with obvious pain,
And knows scarce whither to direct her course.
The sun, the vaulting stars, are wondrous bright,
But not the path of mortals to disclose;
The spirit strives to rush into the light,
But feels the tomb its burden interpose.
Madeline | ||