Poems and dramas of George Cabot Lodge | ||
112
XXXIX
THE NIGHT-WIND
Echoless voice of few sufficing chords,Soft as the memory of a vaster rest,
Secret as sorrow held within the breast
Of one whose silence never stoops to words.
Harp of waste waters by thy hands caressed,
Chalice of music—prayer and song and strife—
Filled with that wine that drowns the ills of life
When the last vineyards of the soul are pressed.
Prophet of final calm where life shall cease,
Cease and a kind forgetfulness of soul
Fall like a balm upon the wounds of peace—
Thy voice shall soothe the last and sternest fight,
Threading the dark dim solitudes of night,
Like life without a prelude or a goal.
Poems and dramas of George Cabot Lodge | ||