 | Impressions of Italy and Other Poems |  |
116
DOUBT.
Oh, Love! canst thou exist without
The golden mystery of a Doubt
Wrapped round thee, like a cloud around
The light of lightnings yet unbound?
The golden mystery of a Doubt
Wrapped round thee, like a cloud around
The light of lightnings yet unbound?
But, oh! 'tis agony of grief—
'Tis Misery's wildest pang and chief;
No rest—no stay—no strength—no light—
The chill, without the charm of Night.
'Tis Misery's wildest pang and chief;
No rest—no stay—no strength—no light—
The chill, without the charm of Night.
But then if Certainty should come,
That Certainty soon grows thy tomb!
With nought to fan thy mystic fire—
Too soon 'tis fated to expire.
That Certainty soon grows thy tomb!
With nought to fan thy mystic fire—
Too soon 'tis fated to expire.
Thus, Love! thou must be still below,
Our fate, our tyrant, and our foe;
Since no way seems for thee to be
Our fixed and full Felicity.
Our fate, our tyrant, and our foe;
Since no way seems for thee to be
Our fixed and full Felicity.
| Impressions of Italy and Other Poems | |