 | Poems: Second Series |  |
45
VOICES OF AUTUMN.
Wild in your wonderful wailing—
Winds of despair!
Winds of the waste and the darkness!
Fiends of the air!
Come from your haunts—from the moorlands
Lonely and bare.
Winds of despair!
Winds of the waste and the darkness!
Fiends of the air!
Come from your haunts—from the moorlands
Lonely and bare.
Deathlike and weird was the slumber
Till you wandered by—
First a faint breath, then a shiver—
A mutter—a sigh—
A moan—a wail lost in the midnight—
An agonized cry.
Till you wandered by—
First a faint breath, then a shiver—
A mutter—a sigh—
A moan—a wail lost in the midnight—
An agonized cry.
Children of dark desolation!
I am alone:
All the great storm of your being
Breathes through my own—
Earth-shaking hurricane thunder—
Faint far off moan.
I am alone:
All the great storm of your being
Breathes through my own—
Earth-shaking hurricane thunder—
Faint far off moan.
46
Eddy on eddy of madness!
Frenzied and fast—
How the grim ghosts of the forest
Shook as each past—
Shook till their leaves dead and dying
Went with the blast.
Frenzied and fast—
How the grim ghosts of the forest
Shook as each past—
Shook till their leaves dead and dying
Went with the blast.
Borne on its bosom, my fancy
Follows its flight—
Out of the forest abysses—
On through the night—
On to the shore where the reef rocks
Are streaming and white.
Follows its flight—
Out of the forest abysses—
On through the night—
On to the shore where the reef rocks
Are streaming and white.
Follows it driving the ridges
Of darkness and doom—
Sees the white foam of their surges
Flash through the gloom—
Hears how the shriek of the hell-wind
Pierces their boom.
Of darkness and doom—
Sees the white foam of their surges
Flash through the gloom—
Hears how the shriek of the hell-wind
Pierces their boom.
Now the wind droops: it is weary—
Worn with its play—
Weary of whirling the dead leaves—
Flinging the spray:
Only a wail, faint and failing,
Dies far away.
Worn with its play—
Weary of whirling the dead leaves—
Flinging the spray:
Only a wail, faint and failing,
Dies far away.
47
Hark! that far infinite moaning
Rises again—
Rises and rushes and rages
In volleys of rain,—
Hark! what a triumph of anguish,
Rapture of pain.
Rises again—
Rises and rushes and rages
In volleys of rain,—
Hark! what a triumph of anguish,
Rapture of pain.
Yes—'twas our hearts that were speaking
To forest and shore—
Driving with eddies of laughter
Storm clouds before—
Strong in the pride of the hidden
Scars that they bore.
To forest and shore—
Driving with eddies of laughter
Storm clouds before—
Strong in the pride of the hidden
Scars that they bore.
Finding their fierce inspiration
Deep in their throes—
Still through their torrents of thunder
Moaning their woes—
Moaning the wound of whose bleeding
None ever knows.
Deep in their throes—
Still through their torrents of thunder
Moaning their woes—
Moaning the wound of whose bleeding
None ever knows.
What if my soul has its passions
Wayward and wild,
Chide not their whirlwinds O mother,
Mighty as mild;
Thine is the midnight autumnal:
I am thy child.
Wayward and wild,
Chide not their whirlwinds O mother,
Mighty as mild;
Thine is the midnight autumnal:
I am thy child.
| Poems: Second Series | |