 | The collected poems of William Ellery Channing the younger, 1817-1901 |  |
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TRURO
A REGRET
The vain regret, the foolish, wasted tear,
Old memories, and most my thought of thee—
Why will they rise and darkly haunt me here,
Whilst the gay blackbird whistles o'er the lea,
And water-lilies shine, and the blue sea
I little dream of, yonder o'er the hill?
Alas for Hope! since not again to me
Thy form shall rise, thy life my being thrill—
Gone as thou art—gone and forever still.
Old memories, and most my thought of thee—
Why will they rise and darkly haunt me here,
Whilst the gay blackbird whistles o'er the lea,
And water-lilies shine, and the blue sea
I little dream of, yonder o'er the hill?
Alas for Hope! since not again to me
Thy form shall rise, thy life my being thrill—
Gone as thou art—gone and forever still.
Forgive this weak lament! and still forgive
In our past days a foolish, erring man!
And yet that I was true thou must believe—
An empty heart that with thy life o'erran,
Creature of beauty—Nature's rarest plan!
So beautiful, who would not love thee near?
We are not carved in stone. The day that ran
Our passion into form why should we fear?
Nor more that silent Past, closed save to some cold tear.
In our past days a foolish, erring man!
And yet that I was true thou must believe—
An empty heart that with thy life o'erran,
Creature of beauty—Nature's rarest plan!
So beautiful, who would not love thee near?
We are not carved in stone. The day that ran
Our passion into form why should we fear?
Nor more that silent Past, closed save to some cold tear.
Then bloomed the flowers along Life's sandy waste,
The waters sparkled in the glancing sun,
And Fate for thee prepared with eager haste
The festive measure—sorrowful to one
Who on thy beauty gazed, but could not run
To slake his thirst at that unfathomed spring;
But feverish looked, and only looked upon,
While Nature hastened with her queenly ring
And crowned thee fairest—her most charming thing.
The waters sparkled in the glancing sun,
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The festive measure—sorrowful to one
Who on thy beauty gazed, but could not run
To slake his thirst at that unfathomed spring;
But feverish looked, and only looked upon,
While Nature hastened with her queenly ring
And crowned thee fairest—her most charming thing.
Why must we live? why pause upon this shore?
Its cold despair our flying souls must chill;
And, sitting lone, I hear the ocean's roar,
While most subdued my heart and wish and will—
Like its unsounded depths my hopes are still;
A moment I may pause, and ask the Past,
Since in the Present frozen is Life's rill,
Had she no joys that might their sunshine cast
On these Siberian wastes and slippery glaciers vast?
Its cold despair our flying souls must chill;
And, sitting lone, I hear the ocean's roar,
While most subdued my heart and wish and will—
Like its unsounded depths my hopes are still;
A moment I may pause, and ask the Past,
Since in the Present frozen is Life's rill,
Had she no joys that might their sunshine cast
On these Siberian wastes and slippery glaciers vast?
Though beauty smile not on a wasted heart,
And with the years I must my lot deplore,
Though Love be distant,—Life an actor's part,
One moment moored, then sailing off the shore,—
Still, while thy thought remains, I weep no more;
For in thy sweet yet artless dignity,
Thy polished mind, in Youth's unlearned lore,
There yet remains a happiness for me,
And thee I still remember, Rosalie!
Where went thou straying, when the heart was young,
And green the leaf swayed on Life's bending tree?
When the eye saw, and nimbly sped the tongue
To tell of stream and bird and heaving sea—
And human fate glowed for eternity?
Then Hope on high poised her romantic scroll
Where poets' years are writ—not the cold plea
For having lived: as the long surges roll
Across my years, now but my knell they toll.
And with the years I must my lot deplore,
Though Love be distant,—Life an actor's part,
One moment moored, then sailing off the shore,—
Still, while thy thought remains, I weep no more;
For in thy sweet yet artless dignity,
Thy polished mind, in Youth's unlearned lore,
985
And thee I still remember, Rosalie!
Where went thou straying, when the heart was young,
And green the leaf swayed on Life's bending tree?
When the eye saw, and nimbly sped the tongue
To tell of stream and bird and heaving sea—
And human fate glowed for eternity?
Then Hope on high poised her romantic scroll
Where poets' years are writ—not the cold plea
For having lived: as the long surges roll
Across my years, now but my knell they toll.
| The collected poems of William Ellery Channing the younger, 1817-1901 | |