 | Love's memorial |  |
62
CONFESSION.
I am as a December day that dawns
Chill, dark and cheerless on deserted lawns,
Where no bird lives, save one old crow whose curse
Sounds like dim echoes of a dead remorse,
Where rotting leaves, dead roots and reeking mist
Call to the long past summer, Had I wist.
Chill, dark and cheerless on deserted lawns,
Where no bird lives, save one old crow whose curse
Sounds like dim echoes of a dead remorse,
Where rotting leaves, dead roots and reeking mist
Call to the long past summer, Had I wist.
I am as an old hulk that barely rides
Upon the waves which beat its battered sides;
But, conquered by its fates' unaltered spell,
Groans, creaks and plunges to their fall and swell
And while each roller bears it deeper down,
Dreams of old days, of many a sunlit town,
Rich shores, and seas that it has never crossed,
Self-hating for the joys that it has lost,
Abandoned, mastless, drifting to and fro
Upon the dull unending ebb and flow.
Upon the waves which beat its battered sides;
But, conquered by its fates' unaltered spell,
Groans, creaks and plunges to their fall and swell
And while each roller bears it deeper down,
Dreams of old days, of many a sunlit town,
Rich shores, and seas that it has never crossed,
Self-hating for the joys that it has lost,
Abandoned, mastless, drifting to and fro
Upon the dull unending ebb and flow.
| Love's memorial | |