 | Carol and Cadence |  |
SICK LIFE.
Day daws;
Life is so loud, night hardly calls a pause;
'Twixt day and day the dark alone division draws.
Life is so loud, night hardly calls a pause;
'Twixt day and day the dark alone division draws.
The streets
Through the small hours roar on and morning greets
The weary eyes o'eroft ere eyelid eyelid meets.
Through the small hours roar on and morning greets
The weary eyes o'eroft ere eyelid eyelid meets.
With streams
Of unrelenting noise the night-air teems;
And if one doze, the streets roar through his restless dreams.
Of unrelenting noise the night-air teems;
And if one doze, the streets roar through his restless dreams.
Lost sleep
Who shall restore to him who needs must keep
The vigil of the dark by London's raging deep.
Who shall restore to him who needs must keep
The vigil of the dark by London's raging deep.
What hope?
Need hems our lives about with iron cope
And still our feet are fast in habit's hobbling-rope.
Need hems our lives about with iron cope
And still our feet are fast in habit's hobbling-rope.
On man
Man over-straitly presses, clan on clan;
One scarce can breathe for crowds in this our Babel's span.
Man over-straitly presses, clan on clan;
One scarce can breathe for crowds in this our Babel's span.
Sick Life
Drags drowsing on through hells of din and strife:
Yonder the Surgeon stands and holds the healing knife.
Drags drowsing on through hells of din and strife:
Yonder the Surgeon stands and holds the healing knife.
110
But Death
Succour and hope of solace proffereth.
Nay, is there 'scape from Life to find in 'scape of breath?
Succour and hope of solace proffereth.
Nay, is there 'scape from Life to find in 'scape of breath?
Who knows?
What we call Life, with all its cares and woes,
Belike is Death and Death the flower of Life that blows.
What we call Life, with all its cares and woes,
Belike is Death and Death the flower of Life that blows.
No need
For Hell to seek there is. If Hell indeed
There be, this mortal life it is of grief and greed.
For Hell to seek there is. If Hell indeed
There be, this mortal life it is of grief and greed.
And yet,
If sleep beyond the gate of Death be set,
How many an aeon sleep must we, ere we forget!
If sleep beyond the gate of Death be set,
How many an aeon sleep must we, ere we forget!
Enough
Is there in Lethe of narcotic stuff
To salve the soul storm-tossed in Life's tempestuous trough?
Is there in Lethe of narcotic stuff
To salve the soul storm-tossed in Life's tempestuous trough?
What seas
Of sleep were needed for their solace, these
Who by Life's turmoil robbed have lifelong been of ease?
Of sleep were needed for their solace, these
Who by Life's turmoil robbed have lifelong been of ease?
Alas!
When 'tis their turn to lie beneath the grass,
Will they not be o'ertired the gates of rest to pass?
When 'tis their turn to lie beneath the grass,
Will they not be o'ertired the gates of rest to pass?
| Carol and Cadence | |