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 | Poems by William Wetmore Story |  |
232
EIDOLON.
This was the shape for which so long in vain
My soul had panted—ah—at last! I cried,
As with a beating heart and flaming brain
I sprang to clasp it—ah! my love, my bride,
Mine, mine at last—thou whom so long my thought
In secret hath pursued, whom flattering hope
Hath falsely promised, whom my soul hath sought
Through many an ambushed doubt adown the slope
Of many a wild and glittering despair,
Ever to lose thee in the morning gleam
Or twilight shadow—now! O sweet and rare,
O perfect creature, in these arms at last,
At last, I clasp thee—and I hold thee fast,
To own forever.
My soul had panted—ah—at last! I cried,
As with a beating heart and flaming brain
I sprang to clasp it—ah! my love, my bride,
Mine, mine at last—thou whom so long my thought
In secret hath pursued, whom flattering hope
Hath falsely promised, whom my soul hath sought
Through many an ambushed doubt adown the slope
Of many a wild and glittering despair,
Ever to lose thee in the morning gleam
Or twilight shadow—now! O sweet and rare,
O perfect creature, in these arms at last,
At last, I clasp thee—and I hold thee fast,
To own forever.
As I spoke, the air
Sighed through the fading grass—the sunlit stream
Shuddered and crisped to shadow—through the leaves
A quiver passed as of a voice that grieves—
And down the lengthening distance died away,
While over all a silent darkness crept—
Swift as a thought, evasive as a dream,
She vanished—all the world was dead and gray,
And silent and oppressed I stood—I wept.
Sighed through the fading grass—the sunlit stream
Shuddered and crisped to shadow—through the leaves
233
And down the lengthening distance died away,
While over all a silent darkness crept—
Swift as a thought, evasive as a dream,
She vanished—all the world was dead and gray,
And silent and oppressed I stood—I wept.
| Poems by William Wetmore Story | |