 | The collected poems of William Ellery Channing the younger, 1817-1901 |  |
952
II
Away! the night is dark and drear;
Loud howls the storm, the clouds uproar,
And chill as broken love the atmosphere.
Away! thee, Nature, I can woo no more:
Thou art at war, and naught at rest;
With thee I never can be blest.
Loud howls the storm, the clouds uproar,
And chill as broken love the atmosphere.
Away! thee, Nature, I can woo no more:
Thou art at war, and naught at rest;
With thee I never can be blest.
Thy whirling seas my feelings jar,
Thy weeping winds and twilight cold;
Thy ways my seekings idly mar,
And I was in my youth-time old.
Thou didst set a glowing stone
In a golden belt alone,—
To me thou sayest: “This treasure thine—
It is the richest thing of mine.”
Thy weeping winds and twilight cold;
Thy ways my seekings idly mar,
And I was in my youth-time old.
Thou didst set a glowing stone
In a golden belt alone,—
To me thou sayest: “This treasure thine—
It is the richest thing of mine.”
| The collected poems of William Ellery Channing the younger, 1817-1901 | |