 | Poetical Works of Lionel Johnson |  |
THE GLOOM
To Henry Hinkson.
Is the dark growing gray,
With the thought of the morn?
Does the redness of day
Wait the word to be born?
Has the sun in his splendour his wings on his way?
With the thought of the morn?
Does the redness of day
Wait the word to be born?
Has the sun in his splendour his wings on his way?
Inisfail in the night,
With her eyes of desire,
Is athirst for the light,
For the fountain of fire:
And the stars of her doom seem to fade from her sight.
With her eyes of desire,
Is athirst for the light,
For the fountain of fire:
And the stars of her doom seem to fade from her sight.
But the winds have a sigh,
The wise winds! They are old:
They have swept the dark sky,
And the stars they have told,
Star by star, through the ages: the stars shall not die!
The wise winds! They are old:
They have swept the dark sky,
And the stars they have told,
Star by star, through the ages: the stars shall not die!
241
They shall live: and the wrongs
Of their working shall live:
And a sadness of songs
Is the best, they shall give.
Inisfail down the night a fair sorrow prolongs.
Of their working shall live:
And a sadness of songs
Is the best, they shall give.
Inisfail down the night a fair sorrow prolongs.
1894.
| Poetical Works of Lionel Johnson | |