 | Poems : medley and Palestina |  |
The Despondent.
My days are swifter than a steed;
They find no joy and flee away,
Like eagles hasting to the prey,
Or galleys winged with stormy speed.
They find no joy and flee away,
Like eagles hasting to the prey,
Or galleys winged with stormy speed.
I would that I had died in birth,
That I had fallen unto death,
Before I learned to love my breath,
Or tasted one delight of earth.
That I had fallen unto death,
Before I learned to love my breath,
Or tasted one delight of earth.
I should have been as one unborn;
I should have flyted to the tomb,
Unheeding of my early doom
As any moth of summer morn.
I should have flyted to the tomb,
Unheeding of my early doom
As any moth of summer morn.
Are not my days a feeble few?
Cease then from troubling! Stand apart,
And let me take some little heart
Before I sink beyond the view;
Cease then from troubling! Stand apart,
And let me take some little heart
Before I sink beyond the view;
Before I go to sombre lands
Where blindness sits; to lands of night,
Where darkness is the only light,
And Sheol lifts obscuring hands.
Where blindness sits; to lands of night,
Where darkness is the only light,
And Sheol lifts obscuring hands.
| Poems : medley and Palestina | |