The literary remains of the late Willis Gaylord Clark Including the Ollapodiana Papers, the Spirit Of Life, and a selection from his various prose and poetical writings |
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['T is an autumnal eve—the low winds, sighing] |
 | The literary remains of the late Willis Gaylord Clark |  |
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['T is an autumnal eve—the low winds, sighing]
'T is an autumnal eve—the low winds, sighing
To wet leaves, rustling as they hasten by;
The eddying gusts to tossing boughs replying,
And ebon darkness filling all the sky;
The moon, pale mistress, palled in solemn vapor,
The rack, swift-wandering through the void above,
As I, a dreamer by my lonely taper,
Send back to faded hours the plaint of love.
To wet leaves, rustling as they hasten by;
The eddying gusts to tossing boughs replying,
And ebon darkness filling all the sky;
The moon, pale mistress, palled in solemn vapor,
The rack, swift-wandering through the void above,
As I, a dreamer by my lonely taper,
Send back to faded hours the plaint of love.
Blossoms of peace, once in my pathway springing,
Where have your brightness and your splendor gone?
And Thou, whose voice to me came sweet as singing,
What region holds thee in the vast Unknown?
What star far brighter than the rest contains thee,
Beloved, departed—empress of my heart!
What bond of full beatitude enchains thee,
In realms unveiled by pen, or prophet's art?
Where have your brightness and your splendor gone?
And Thou, whose voice to me came sweet as singing,
What region holds thee in the vast Unknown?
What star far brighter than the rest contains thee,
Beloved, departed—empress of my heart!
What bond of full beatitude enchains thee,
In realms unveiled by pen, or prophet's art?
Ah! loved and lost! in these autumnal hours,
When fairy colors deck the painted tree,
When the vast woodlands seem a sea of flowers,
Oh! then my soul exulting bounds to thee!
Springs, as to clasp thee yet in this existence,
Yet to behold thee at my lonely side:
But the fond vision melts at once to distance,
And my sad heart gives echo—she has died!
When fairy colors deck the painted tree,
When the vast woodlands seem a sea of flowers,
Oh! then my soul exulting bounds to thee!
Springs, as to clasp thee yet in this existence,
Yet to behold thee at my lonely side:
But the fond vision melts at once to distance,
And my sad heart gives echo—she has died!
Yes! when the morning of her years was brightest,
That Angel-presence into dust went down;
While yet with rosy dreams her rest was lightest,
Death for the olive wove the cypress crown;
Sleep, which no waking knows, o'ercame her bosom,
O'ercame her large, bright, spiritual eyes;
Spared in her bower connubial one fair blossom—
Then bore her spirit to the upper skies.
That Angel-presence into dust went down;
While yet with rosy dreams her rest was lightest,
Death for the olive wove the cypress crown;
Sleep, which no waking knows, o'ercame her bosom,
O'ercame her large, bright, spiritual eyes;
Spared in her bower connubial one fair blossom—
Then bore her spirit to the upper skies.
There let me meet her, when, life's struggles over
The pure in love and thought their faith renew:
Where man's forgiving and redeeming Lover
Spreads out his paradise to every view.
Let the dim Autumn, with its leaves descending,
Howl on the winter's verge—yet Spring will come:
So my freed soul, no more 'gainst fate contending,
With all it loveth, shall regain its home.
The pure in love and thought their faith renew:
Where man's forgiving and redeeming Lover
Spreads out his paradise to every view.
Let the dim Autumn, with its leaves descending,
Howl on the winter's verge—yet Spring will come:
So my freed soul, no more 'gainst fate contending,
With all it loveth, shall regain its home.
| The literary remains of the late Willis Gaylord Clark | |