Stones from The Quarry or, Moods of Mind. By Henry Browne [i.e. Henry Ellison] |
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THE DISBELIEF OF A FUTURE LIFE. |
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 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
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THE DISBELIEF OF A FUTURE LIFE.
If this be so, e'en let blank-eyed Despair
Write o'er Life's very entrance-gates,—“Here leave
All hope behind,” no sooner born than grieve!
Ay, let the infant at the breast, the heir
Of that great Sorrow, Life! its tears prepare,
And weep or e'er the mother's breasts suck give!
Love at Life's fount and Grief together strive
E'en from the first, till Grief alone flow there!
Turn thy torch downward, Love, like Death; for now
'Twill earthwards smoulder briefly and go out.
Droop like a fading lily, thy pure brow,
Poor blighted Faith; with this fell dagger, Doubt,
O Poet-heart (worst suicide, I trow),
Pierce thyself through, with maniac-laugh and shout!
Write o'er Life's very entrance-gates,—“Here leave
All hope behind,” no sooner born than grieve!
Ay, let the infant at the breast, the heir
Of that great Sorrow, Life! its tears prepare,
And weep or e'er the mother's breasts suck give!
Love at Life's fount and Grief together strive
E'en from the first, till Grief alone flow there!
Turn thy torch downward, Love, like Death; for now
'Twill earthwards smoulder briefly and go out.
Droop like a fading lily, thy pure brow,
Poor blighted Faith; with this fell dagger, Doubt,
O Poet-heart (worst suicide, I trow),
Pierce thyself through, with maniac-laugh and shout!
Life were but as that prison (on a scale
To make us for awhile forget 'tis one),
Where cruel Venice shut some ill-starred son
Of hers, beneath her ban, whose heart did fail
As the cold, merciless walls' embrace of bale
Drew daily closer Death by inches on!
So here Death, by enlarged comparison,
Man circumvents with the world's vaster pale!
A prisoner from the first, although the cage
So glorious, he conceits himself as free;
Yet closing with remorseless stealth of age
Upon him on all sides, till he can see
The walls, and in despair, or grief, or rage,
Beats at them, till they but his coffin be!
To make us for awhile forget 'tis one),
Where cruel Venice shut some ill-starred son
Of hers, beneath her ban, whose heart did fail
As the cold, merciless walls' embrace of bale
Drew daily closer Death by inches on!
So here Death, by enlarged comparison,
Man circumvents with the world's vaster pale!
A prisoner from the first, although the cage
So glorious, he conceits himself as free;
Yet closing with remorseless stealth of age
Upon him on all sides, till he can see
The walls, and in despair, or grief, or rage,
Beats at them, till they but his coffin be!
| Stones from The Quarry | |