 | Later Lays and Lyrics |  |
109
LINES WRITTEN IN DEJECTION NEAR “WILLOW MOUNT,” AVON, N. Y.
I.
Why from my aching heart is banished gladness,Why seems the ghost of desolation near,
Why is my mood one of prevailing sadness?
Thou art not here.
II.
Why in the midnight deep am I awakingWhile the wan ghosts of memory appear,
And farewell mourning Love of Hope seems taking?
Thou art not here.
III.
Why in my bosom thrill the chords of sorrow,While mournful music falls upon the ear,
Why from my book and pen no comfort borrow?
Thou art not here.
IV.
I toil alone heart-broken, sick, unaided,While Winter's bitter blast chants dirges drear;
With funeral black both èarth and sky are shaded:
Thou art not here.
V.
When will I hear again that voice far sweeterThan flute-notes heard on moon-lit waters clear?
I cannot waken to melodious metre:
Thou art not here!
110
VI.
Star of my being! will thy lustre neverTo one adoring send a beam of cheer,
Or have we parted, darling one! forever?
Would thou wert here!
VII.
Would I had wings to conquer cruel distanceThat I might fly thy seraph voice to hear!
Thou art the light and life of my existence—
Would thou wert here!
VIII.
I feel like one who sees, all shrouded lying,The last who loved him on the dismal bier,
And murmurs words she faltered out while dying—
Thou art not here.
IX.
There is a kingdom, bright beyond expression,That cannot be portrayed by bard or seer;
Thither our lost ones march in pale procession,
The dead, the dear.
X.
Not dead, but to a better land translatedWhere never wailing cry-woke mystic fear,
And I, with life's poor, fleeting pleasure sated,
Long for that sphere.
XI.
Oh! naught could make me pause, ere crossed death's waters,Chill as the blast with icebergs floating near,
Save one, the purest, fairest of Eve's daughter's,
Who is not here.
111
XII.
My bark long tossed upon the breakers foamingTo a calm port of Peace I fain would steer,
And build a nuptial bower, no longer roaming,
For one not here.
XIII.
Vain are such dreams, and worse than vain complaining:Earth boasts no cure for agony like mine,
The lees alone are in my cup remaining
Gone, gone, Life's wine.
| Later Lays and Lyrics | |