Days and Hours :: :: University of Virginia Library

O Sorrow, whose inviolable soul
The God of all things made his dwelling-place,
Sorrow, whom all must look on face to face
Between their mortal barriers and the goal,
Whose is the infant's plaint, the funeral knell,
Thy voice is better than a marriage bell.

II

Better it is to sit awhile with thee,
And listen to thy melancholy shell,
Than sound of festal harpings, and the swell
Of choral triumphs waxing like a sea;
Better it is to hear thy still small voice
Than Pæans thunder'd forth when Kings rejoice!

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III

O holy Sorrow, whom the iron Fates
Alone on earth pass by without a frown,
When I behold how rebel years discrown
Imperial Youth; how lordly Pleasure waits
To pass beneath Affiction's dungeon door;
I'll sit with thee, though thou be old and poor.

IV

How Hope's blue eyes grow dim and blind with tears;
How Love unplumed, and crazy Mirth forlorn
Halt after winged Time pursued by Scorn;
How Vanity the last of Youth's frail peers
Arm'd with a crooked crutch, and wither'd wreath
Goes with Despair to fight the strength of Death;

V

How Glory hears the echoes of his name
Die down the wind, that wafteth swiftly on
The thundering sound of victories newly won,
And triumphs louder in the throat of Fame;
Sorrow, in thy deep bower I'll sit with thee,
And hear thee sing of Immortality.