 | The Poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich |  |
151
THE POET.
He wasted richest gifts of God.
But here 's the limit of his woes,
Sleep rest him! See, above him grows
The very grass whereon he trod.
But here 's the limit of his woes,
Sleep rest him! See, above him grows
The very grass whereon he trod.
He walked with dæmons, ghouls, and things
Unsightly ... terrors and despairs,
And ever in the blackened airs
A dismal raven flapt its wings.
Unsightly ... terrors and despairs,
And ever in the blackened airs
A dismal raven flapt its wings.
Behold! within this narrow grave
Is shut the baser part of him.
Behold! he could not wholly dim
The genius gracious heaven gave,—
Is shut the baser part of him.
Behold! he could not wholly dim
The genius gracious heaven gave,—
For strains of music here and there,
Weird murmurings, vague, prophetic tones,
Are blown across the silent zones
Forever in the midnight air.
Weird murmurings, vague, prophetic tones,
Are blown across the silent zones
Forever in the midnight air.
| The Poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich | |