 | Lyrical and other poems |  |
SONNET TO DESPAIR
Pale wretch! that lov'st to wander, when the nightIs dark and gloomy; when the storm is high,
And heav'ns red glory rushes thro' the sky,
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And in the slumber, (if we thus may deem
That slumber, which is pain) that seekest still,
By every effort of impulsive will,
Of that which charm'd thee once, again to dream!
Frail mourner! slumber still, and it were well
If, in the vacant sameness of thy rest,
But broken by thy sighs and heaving breast,
Death's leaden sceptre o'er thy slumbers fell!
Thou wakest! and the night is gath'ring round,
It is thy day—and all that thou hast found!
| Lyrical and other poems | |