Poems by Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] With Portrait engraved by E. Stodart ... in two volumes |
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“FIN DE SIECLE.”
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 | Poems by Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] |  |
123
“FIN DE SIECLE.”
The world is old; old in expression of thought,
Old in persistency to dare and do;
Old in endeavour to revive anew
The dead grey ashes that are burnt to naught
By fangs of fiercest flame gnaw'd through and through.
Old in persistency to dare and do;
Old in endeavour to revive anew
The dead grey ashes that are burnt to naught
By fangs of fiercest flame gnaw'd through and through.
To us, who breathe this breath of latter days,
Can anything seem true, or fresh, or keen,
Whilst mocking voices whisper thus, between
Our smiles and tears, “Ye tread in dead men's ways;
That must wax weaker which hath always been”?
Can anything seem true, or fresh, or keen,
Whilst mocking voices whisper thus, between
Our smiles and tears, “Ye tread in dead men's ways;
That must wax weaker which hath always been”?
The starved oppressors of a vanish'd race
Cry out for sustenance, and seek their prey
In hearts worn thin and callous, since To-day
Passion and Impulse flag, whilst in their place,
Reason inaugurates her colder sway.
Cry out for sustenance, and seek their prey
In hearts worn thin and callous, since To-day
Passion and Impulse flag, whilst in their place,
Reason inaugurates her colder sway.
124
“How can I thrive,” asks Love, “on such poor fare?
These know me not, my welcome is out-stay'd.”
Pain, likewise, maketh murmur, all dismay'd:—
“Where is my part in love, my tribute, where,
In days gone by so generously paid?”
These know me not, my welcome is out-stay'd.”
Pain, likewise, maketh murmur, all dismay'd:—
“Where is my part in love, my tribute, where,
In days gone by so generously paid?”
Thus, pale and ravening, shall these two feed
On hearts born out of time; a fated few
Predestined, for their sorrow, to renew
The fervid sense of some old Pagan creed
Which may not perish, whether false or true.
On hearts born out of time; a fated few
Predestined, for their sorrow, to renew
The fervid sense of some old Pagan creed
Which may not perish, whether false or true.
| Poems by Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] | |