 | [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet |  |
147
POEM
I could not weep—I could not weep—
The fount had ceased to flow.
Then came that dull, that stilly sleep,
The dead alone can know,—
I felt like those whose stiff repose
Rests 'neath the weight of Alpine snows.
The fount had ceased to flow.
Then came that dull, that stilly sleep,
The dead alone can know,—
I felt like those whose stiff repose
Rests 'neath the weight of Alpine snows.
The Asphaltitian lake is rife
With Death's own offerings—
I would that this poor unblessed life
Were like those painless things.
But agony and I are living
Both unforgiven and unforgiving.
With Death's own offerings—
I would that this poor unblessed life
Were like those painless things.
But agony and I are living
Both unforgiven and unforgiving.
Tomorrow's sun comes from the sea
On joyous hearts,—not mine,
Ambition weaves her witchery,
But not my brows to twine.
The sun has no enlivening ray
That wreath long since has passed away.
On joyous hearts,—not mine,
Ambition weaves her witchery,
But not my brows to twine.
The sun has no enlivening ray
That wreath long since has passed away.
Lonely as rocks by ocean lashed
Come life's rude waves to me,
Rudely as ships on coral dashed,
Strikes worldly courtesy.
Yet the calm shall come when not a breath
Shall enter the house of withering death.
Come life's rude waves to me,
Rudely as ships on coral dashed,
Strikes worldly courtesy.
Yet the calm shall come when not a breath
Shall enter the house of withering death.
Yet winter has its bonny spring,
And why not one for me?
It comes, it comes in blossoming,
Sweet Helen, from thine eye.
Aye, we will laugh at Death awhile,
For life and hope are in thy smile.
And why not one for me?
It comes, it comes in blossoming,
Sweet Helen, from thine eye.
Aye, we will laugh at Death awhile,
For life and hope are in thy smile.
Boston Statesman, August 11, 1827
| [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet | |