 | Poems by Sarah Helen Whitman |  |
181
THE OLD MIRROR.
Oft I see at twilight,
In the hollow gloom
Of the dim old mirror,
Phantasmal faces loom:
In the hollow gloom
Of the dim old mirror,
Phantasmal faces loom:
Noble antique faces,
Sad as with the weight
Of some ancient sorrow,
Some ancestral fate:
Sad as with the weight
Of some ancient sorrow,
Some ancestral fate:
Little rose-lipped faces,
Locks of golden shine,
Laughing eyes of childhood
Looking into mine:
Locks of golden shine,
Laughing eyes of childhood
Looking into mine:
Sweet auroral faces,
Like the morning's bloom;
Ah, how long and long ago
Shrouded for the tomb!
Like the morning's bloom;
Ah, how long and long ago
Shrouded for the tomb!
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In a bridal chamber
Once the mirror hung;
Draperies of Indian looms
Over it were flung.
Once the mirror hung;
Draperies of Indian looms
Over it were flung.
From its gilded sconces,
Fretted now with mold,
Waxen tapers glimmered
On carcanets of gold.
Fretted now with mold,
Waxen tapers glimmered
On carcanets of gold.
Perfumes of the summer night
Were through the lattice blown,
Scents of brier roses
And meadows newly mown.
Were through the lattice blown,
Scents of brier roses
And meadows newly mown.
The mirror then looked eastward
And caught the morning bloom,
And flooded with its rosy gold
The dreamlight of the room.
And caught the morning bloom,
And flooded with its rosy gold
The dreamlight of the room.
To-night 't is looking westward
Toward the sunset wall;
The wintry day is waning,
The dead leaves drift and fall.
Toward the sunset wall;
The wintry day is waning,
The dead leaves drift and fall.
All about the hearth-stone
The whitening ashes blow,
The wind is wailing an old song
Heard long and long ago.
The whitening ashes blow,
183
Heard long and long ago.
Like the dead leaves drifting
Through the wintry air,
Like white ashes sifting
O'er the hearth-stone bare,
Through the wintry air,
Like white ashes sifting
O'er the hearth-stone bare,
Sad ancestral faces,
Wan as moon-lit snow,
Haunt the dim old mirror
That knew them long ago.
Wan as moon-lit snow,
Haunt the dim old mirror
That knew them long ago.
1875.
| Poems by Sarah Helen Whitman | |