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SPRING AND DESPAIR. |
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II. |
The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | ||
380
SPRING AND DESPAIR.
The cold spring twilight fills his lonely room,—
There is no warmth, no fragrance on the air,—
No song, but roll of traffic everywhere;
He dwells apart, in his own separate gloom,
Borne down by dread, inevitable doom.
The bitter winds have left the young trees bare;
So wind-swept is his soul, no longer fair,
And withering slowly in a mortal tomb.
There is no warmth, no fragrance on the air,—
No song, but roll of traffic everywhere;
He dwells apart, in his own separate gloom,
Borne down by dread, inevitable doom.
The bitter winds have left the young trees bare;
So wind-swept is his soul, no longer fair,
And withering slowly in a mortal tomb.
The early cold of spring shall pass away,
And June come on, of all sweet gifts possest,
With noons for rapture, and deep nights for rest;
But never any vivifying ray
Shall change for him one hour of any day
Till death's dark flower be laid on brow and breast.
And June come on, of all sweet gifts possest,
With noons for rapture, and deep nights for rest;
But never any vivifying ray
Shall change for him one hour of any day
Till death's dark flower be laid on brow and breast.
The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | ||