 | The poems of Richard Henry Stoddard |  |
126
MISERRIMUS.
He has passed away
From a world of strife,
Fighting the wars of Time and Life.
The leaves will fall when the winds are loud,
And the snows of winter will weave his shroud;
But he will never, ah, never know
Any thing more
Of leaves or snow.
From a world of strife,
Fighting the wars of Time and Life.
The leaves will fall when the winds are loud,
And the snows of winter will weave his shroud;
But he will never, ah, never know
Any thing more
Of leaves or snow.
The summer-tide
Of his life was past,
And his hopes were fading, falling fast.
His faults were many, his virtues few,
A tempest with flecks of heaven's blue.
He might have soared to the gates of light,
But he built his nest
With the birds of night.
Of his life was past,
And his hopes were fading, falling fast.
His faults were many, his virtues few,
A tempest with flecks of heaven's blue.
He might have soared to the gates of light,
But he built his nest
With the birds of night.
He glimmered apart
In solemn gloom,
Like a dying lamp in a haunted tomb.
He touched his lute with a magic spell,
But all his melodies breathed of hell,
Raising the Afrits and the Ghouls,
And the pallid ghosts
Of the damnèd souls.
In solemn gloom,
Like a dying lamp in a haunted tomb.
He touched his lute with a magic spell,
But all his melodies breathed of hell,
Raising the Afrits and the Ghouls,
And the pallid ghosts
Of the damnèd souls.
But he lies in dust,
And the stone is rolled
Over his sepulchre dark and cold.
He has cancelled all he has done, or said,
And gone to the dear and holy Dead.
Let us forget the path he trod,
He has done with us,
He has gone to God.
And the stone is rolled
Over his sepulchre dark and cold.
He has cancelled all he has done, or said,
127
Let us forget the path he trod,
He has done with us,
He has gone to God.
| The poems of Richard Henry Stoddard | |