 | Lyrical Poems |  |
107
THE DAYS LONG PAST
O days long past! When night is deep
Ye oft wage war with holy sleep,
And to some spectral region far
Bear the sick soul your prisoner.
Ye oft wage war with holy sleep,
And to some spectral region far
Bear the sick soul your prisoner.
Before us in procession slow
The dim pathetic faces go,
Crying, ‘Why scorn our weakness thus?
Thy present soon will be like us!’
The dim pathetic faces go,
Crying, ‘Why scorn our weakness thus?
Thy present soon will be like us!’
First-childhood, with pale gold around
His brows and wither'd ash-leaves bound,
And in his azure-faded eyes
The morning-star of Paradise.
His brows and wither'd ash-leaves bound,
And in his azure-faded eyes
The morning-star of Paradise.
First-faith, with rosy limbs, to whom
God every night was in the room,
And o'er our heads bade slumber creep
With touch of hands more soft than sleep.
God every night was in the room,
And o'er our heads bade slumber creep
With touch of hands more soft than sleep.
108
First-love, with buoyant gestures still'd,
And eyes of promise unfulfill'd,
And trembling on his lips the while
The sunset of the ancient smile.
And eyes of promise unfulfill'd,
And trembling on his lips the while
The sunset of the ancient smile.
And other presences between,
And visions rather felt than seen,
With tears upon their garments' hem,
So dear, I may not look on them.
And visions rather felt than seen,
With tears upon their garments' hem,
So dear, I may not look on them.
—Once more! O once more!—But they go
Silent, nor any love-sign show.
I know the lost are lost; and then
In gloomier gloom night falls again.
Silent, nor any love-sign show.
I know the lost are lost; and then
In gloomier gloom night falls again.
| Lyrical Poems | |