The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield In two volumes |
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A MONODY. |
 | The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield |  |
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A MONODY.
When first I drank thy starlight smile, and revelled in thy love,
How could I know that thou wert here, but as a pilgrim dove?
How could I think that thou wouldst part and vanish like a star,
And leave me here alone to weep, when thou hadst fled afar?
How could I know that thou wert here, but as a pilgrim dove?
How could I think that thou wouldst part and vanish like a star,
And leave me here alone to weep, when thou hadst fled afar?
Thou wert to me so dear, I felt as if shut out of heaven,
When death came o'er thy beauty, like a cloud o'er summer even;
And many a time in solitude, in malady and sorrow,
My heart hath turned to yesterday, and quail'd to meet tomorrow.
When death came o'er thy beauty, like a cloud o'er summer even;
And many a time in solitude, in malady and sorrow,
My heart hath turned to yesterday, and quail'd to meet tomorrow.
When in the silent sanctity of Love's own holy sky,
We fondly talked of days to come, I thought not thou couldst die;
Ev'n while I gaz'd upon thy fixed, yet lovely look in death,
I kissed thy lips and started—for I met no answering breath.
We fondly talked of days to come, I thought not thou couldst die;
Ev'n while I gaz'd upon thy fixed, yet lovely look in death,
I kissed thy lips and started—for I met no answering breath.
Though day by day I saw thee fade—I dare not ponder now!—
Though the fire of death was on thy cheek—its blight upon thy brow;
Though words, that turned my heart to tears, oft from thy pale lips fell,
I thought not thou wert doomed to die—I could not say farewell!
Though the fire of death was on thy cheek—its blight upon thy brow;
Though words, that turned my heart to tears, oft from thy pale lips fell,
I thought not thou wert doomed to die—I could not say farewell!
I knew thou wert too pure to dwell amid the sins of earth—
Too high, too holy, to enjoy its follies and its mirth.
But, oh! I trusted thou wouldst live that I might daily see
And love the holiness of heaven, so imaged out in thee.
Too high, too holy, to enjoy its follies and its mirth.
But, oh! I trusted thou wouldst live that I might daily see
And love the holiness of heaven, so imaged out in thee.
So long in sorrow I had flown to seek thee in thy bower,
I could not bear the solitude of desolation's hour,
The utter gloom, the emptiness, the silence never broken;
Where all was music, life, and love—though oft no word was spoken.
I could not bear the solitude of desolation's hour,
The utter gloom, the emptiness, the silence never broken;
Where all was music, life, and love—though oft no word was spoken.
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The light of stars—the melody of bosky brooks were thine,
A heart that breathed the bloom of bliss—a spirit all divine:
In sacred song or antique lore, or wisdom daily shown,
Thy mind was like the glorious sun descending from his throne.
A heart that breathed the bloom of bliss—a spirit all divine:
In sacred song or antique lore, or wisdom daily shown,
Thy mind was like the glorious sun descending from his throne.
Our meeting was in hope and bliss—our parting in despair;
And when I saw the shade of death glide o'er thy features fair,
And raised thy cold face from my breast to lay thee with the dead,
I wept not—sighed not—but I felt that all earth's charm had fled.
And when I saw the shade of death glide o'er thy features fair,
And raised thy cold face from my breast to lay thee with the dead,
I wept not—sighed not—but I felt that all earth's charm had fled.
I never thought that I should see thine eyelids shut in death;
Thy bright brow cold—thy spirit quenched, that glowed and bloomed beneath;
I never thought to lay thee down, in thine unwedded grave,
With the chill hand of that despair, which could not—could not save!
Thy bright brow cold—thy spirit quenched, that glowed and bloomed beneath;
I never thought to lay thee down, in thine unwedded grave,
With the chill hand of that despair, which could not—could not save!
But disappointment long hath cast desertion o'er my days,
And many a dreary ruin lies in all my wandering ways;
In moody moments I have thought a spell was on my name—
My love hath ever been unblest—I seek not phantom fame.
And many a dreary ruin lies in all my wandering ways;
In moody moments I have thought a spell was on my name—
My love hath ever been unblest—I seek not phantom fame.
But peerless Beauty's syren song and Grandeur's pride of power
Could not together win me from the memory of one hour;
For well I know, where'er thy home, thou wilt come down to soothe
The solitude and grief that cloud the morning of my youth.
Could not together win me from the memory of one hour;
For well I know, where'er thy home, thou wilt come down to soothe
The solitude and grief that cloud the morning of my youth.
Farewell, Luzelia! oh, farewell! I may not linger long
To greet thy kindred spirit with a slow and solemn song,
But, like the star beside the moon, on a still summer even,
I'll mingle with thy brightness, Love! and follow thee to heaven!
To greet thy kindred spirit with a slow and solemn song,
But, like the star beside the moon, on a still summer even,
I'll mingle with thy brightness, Love! and follow thee to heaven!
| The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield | |