 | Poems by James Rhoades |  |
116
II.
[Nature, when I deplore the fates that bind]
Nature, when I deplore the fates that bindMy spirit to a life unlov'd by thee,
My limbs to pace this narrow room, my mind
To hour on hour of dull monotony,
When I recall how glorious and how free,
Lost on thy mountains amid wave and wind,
To learn the blessedness of hearts that find,
Of ears that hear thee, and of eyes that see—
Then dream that I am fall'n beneath thy frown,
Doom'd to be no more with thee, no more wise—
What joy to think, thine too these common skies,
This field—thy finger wove its floral crown;
Oh! mother, thine this silence that comes down,
And bears the nightingale's great song, and dies!
| Poems by James Rhoades | |