 | The Village Churchyard |  |
139
SONG.
I think of thee, and only thee!
Far, far we 're darkly severed now:
Weighed down by clouds of Memory,
I hang my faintly drooping brow.
Far, far we 're darkly severed now:
Weighed down by clouds of Memory,
I hang my faintly drooping brow.
I think of thee—thou far away;
My Life's rich Crown of happiness!
And meet with tears Morn's earliest ray,
And wish its rosy glory less!
My Life's rich Crown of happiness!
And meet with tears Morn's earliest ray,
And wish its rosy glory less!
And yet, not so! I little care
How beautiful, how bright it be:
I scarce can see, I cannot share,
Its gladness and festivity.
How beautiful, how bright it be:
I scarce can see, I cannot share,
Its gladness and festivity.
140
Beauty to me hath now become
The phantasm of itself; and so,
All things consent in kindred gloom,
All things have fellowship in Woe!
The phantasm of itself; and so,
All things consent in kindred gloom,
All things have fellowship in Woe!
Ev'n Music's rich and festal breath
Unheeded falls upon mine ear;
For deaf it is, as frozen death,
To all that once was—oh, how dear!
Unheeded falls upon mine ear;
For deaf it is, as frozen death,
To all that once was—oh, how dear!
And Nature—Nature! could I thread
Her fairest paths, or plunge me deep
Where her o'ershadowing forests spread;
Ev'n thence no pleasure could I reap.
Her fairest paths, or plunge me deep
Where her o'ershadowing forests spread;
Ev'n thence no pleasure could I reap.
And oh! 't is well, 't is deeply well;
If thus to Sorrow's tearful ken
Pleasure be inaccessible,
It cannot smile in mockery then;
If thus to Sorrow's tearful ken
Pleasure be inaccessible,
It cannot smile in mockery then;
141
It cannot bitterly remind
Of joys once ours, dispersed and flown:
Then let me still be deaf and blind
To all but Grief—but Grief alone!
Of joys once ours, dispersed and flown:
Then let me still be deaf and blind
To all but Grief—but Grief alone!
Contrast then heightens not regret,
Nor wounds with keener heart-aches new:
No! when my Sun of gladness set,
Each Star sunk down the horizon too!
Nor wounds with keener heart-aches new:
No! when my Sun of gladness set,
Each Star sunk down the horizon too!
I think of thee—all, only thee,
Loved Cynosure of every thought;
My life now seems but Memory,
And all that is not memory—nought!
Loved Cynosure of every thought;
My life now seems but Memory,
And all that is not memory—nought!
I think of thee from noon till night,
From night till morn, from morn till noon;
And though too slow the hours' dull flight,
Their dark successors come too soon!
From night till morn, from morn till noon;
And though too slow the hours' dull flight,
Their dark successors come too soon!
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