Stones from The Quarry or, Moods of Mind. By Henry Browne [i.e. Henry Ellison] |
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THE LAST SAD STAGE OF ALL. |
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 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
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THE LAST SAD STAGE OF ALL.
In the blank vacancies of those old eyesDulled Speculation dozes; Thought there dwells
(If Thought at all) as one who doting tells
Moth-eaten tales, and aye with oft premise
And retrospect confusing tells o'er twice;
Like cold hearths where some ember scarce dispels
With a faint, dying flicker, but not quells
The chill and darkness, so the life-glow dies
And smoulders out in them. Dim, colourless,
The outline of the Past there ghost-like flits,
While Death still, from behind, doth urge and press,
Like a poor phantom scared out of its wits;
That over the dark brink of nothingness
In gibbering terror, scarcely conscious, quits.
| Stones from The Quarry | |