Craven Blossoms or, Poems chiefly connected with the district of Craven. By Robert Storey |
 |
|
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. | XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
 | Craven Blossoms |  |
XXVIII.
“Ask the bruised wretch, convulsed with pain,The precipice to climb again,
Down which his madness or his fate
Hath hurled his unresisting weight.
Alas! his limbs—all feeble now—
Can ill keep stance on ledge or bough.
The shoots by which uninjured hand
Might at slight risk the top command,
Spring greenly but to mock the eye
Of him who at the base must die!
If yet my heart, in spite of all
Bruise and exhaustion from my fall,
Retains enough of power to climb
Once more with hope and aim sublime,
How vain were e'en success, when thou—
The vision which above its brow
30
And all is dull, and blank, and lone!
No, no—that light no more on high,
Degraded, lost, I can but die!”
| Craven Blossoms | |