 | Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton |  |
30
THE STAR.
First Star of evening, show thy face,
For the world waits for thee;—
The swallow to the owl gives place,
And to the bat the bee;—
Gleam out, thou radiance intense!
Thrust quick this growing darkness hence
That, thickening, gives my yearning eyes
Such unabash'd offence.
For the world waits for thee;—
The swallow to the owl gives place,
And to the bat the bee;—
Gleam out, thou radiance intense!
Thrust quick this growing darkness hence
That, thickening, gives my yearning eyes
Such unabash'd offence.
Lift thy dark eyelid, gentle Star,
And let me see thine eye!
High thoughts, from self and sin afar,
We oft allow to die;
But hearts, though earthy in th' extreme,
Dreams of a nobler life might dream,
Shone but the visible melody
Of thy converting beam.
And let me see thine eye!
High thoughts, from self and sin afar,
We oft allow to die;
But hearts, though earthy in th' extreme,
Dreams of a nobler life might dream,
Shone but the visible melody
Of thy converting beam.
31
Eyes are souls' tongues; then let me hear
The soul that speaks through thee;
Thou hast a speech of accent clear,
A solemn speech, for me:
And, were my spirit wild with hell,
The messages thy rays can tell
Should strike me calm,—like the clear toll
Of a religious bell.
The soul that speaks through thee;
Thou hast a speech of accent clear,
A solemn speech, for me:
And, were my spirit wild with hell,
The messages thy rays can tell
Should strike me calm,—like the clear toll
Of a religious bell.
It gleams! It gleams! The starry sprite
Its eyelids deigns to part;
Swift shoots a wiry lance of light,
Straight tilting at my heart;
It seems a friend to recognise,
Darts through the wide door of the eyes,
Falls on the soul's neck with a kiss
Of lovingest surprise!
Its eyelids deigns to part;
Swift shoots a wiry lance of light,
Straight tilting at my heart;
It seems a friend to recognise,
Darts through the wide door of the eyes,
Falls on the soul's neck with a kiss
Of lovingest surprise!
Do stars weep? Sure, to that star-twink
Some tear-fraught mist was given!—
How delicately doth it shrink
Back-lessening into heaven!
It seems about to quite depart;—
Ah! it leaps forward with a start,
Like the convulsed and desperate beat
Of a most suffering heart.
Some tear-fraught mist was given!—
How delicately doth it shrink
Back-lessening into heaven!
It seems about to quite depart;—
Ah! it leaps forward with a start,
Like the convulsed and desperate beat
Of a most suffering heart.
32
And it may weep;—a star may weep,
Ay, spite of natural bars;
For hath not earth woes deadly deep
Should e'en force tears from stars?
It must be all creation's part
To fellow-feel with human smart,
While pity throbs in every beat
Of God's all-loving heart.
Ay, spite of natural bars;
For hath not earth woes deadly deep
Should e'en force tears from stars?
It must be all creation's part
To fellow-feel with human smart,
While pity throbs in every beat
Of God's all-loving heart.
Yes; stars may weep, God pity, yet
Men no compassion show,
And can most thoughtlessly forget
A brother's piteous throe;
Are we not all too slow to heed
The bleeding of the hearts that bleed,
Too slow to feel each others' want,
And heal each others' woe?
Men no compassion show,
And can most thoughtlessly forget
A brother's piteous throe;
Are we not all too slow to heed
The bleeding of the hearts that bleed,
Too slow to feel each others' want,
And heal each others' woe?
We fret our lives, we waste our souls,
For weary wealth or fame,
Yet die at last inglorious moles
Blind digging to our shame:—
For there 's no glory, save to try
To wipe tears from another's eye,
And help his spirit to transcend
Each merely earthly aim.
For weary wealth or fame,
Yet die at last inglorious moles
Blind digging to our shame:—
For there 's no glory, save to try
To wipe tears from another's eye,
And help his spirit to transcend
Each merely earthly aim.
| Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton | |