 | Poems (1845) |  |
143
[Shall I, Alas!]
[OMITTED] Shall I, Alas! [OMITTED]
‘No longer hear the friendly tone,
Which welcomed me of yore
From many a wet and stormy day,
At the paternal door?
Which welcomed me of yore
From many a wet and stormy day,
At the paternal door?
‘No longer see the evening fire,
By thee replenished well,
As from the cold and biting frost
I came, when evening fell?
By thee replenished well,
As from the cold and biting frost
I came, when evening fell?
‘No longer see thy aged form
Pass to the cottage door,
Or move, with gentle step, and slow
Across the dusky floor,
Pass to the cottage door,
Or move, with gentle step, and slow
Across the dusky floor,
‘As from its place beyond the fire,
Thou brought'st some ancient book;
Thy hand still firm, although thy head
With a slight tremor shook?
Thou brought'st some ancient book;
Thy hand still firm, although thy head
With a slight tremor shook?
144
‘And can those hands, which busy still
Some lighter task would ply,
Nor shrink from labour to the last,
All cold and stiffened lie?
Some lighter task would ply,
Nor shrink from labour to the last,
All cold and stiffened lie?
‘And can that eye, which still was bright
Beneath its time-bleached brow,
Cold, lustreless, and lifeless, lie
In the lone churchyard now?
Beneath its time-bleached brow,
Cold, lustreless, and lifeless, lie
In the lone churchyard now?
‘Now in my ear a voice proclaims
At morn, and noon, and night—
No more thy word, or look, or smile
Shall make my heart fell light.
At morn, and noon, and night—
No more thy word, or look, or smile
Shall make my heart fell light.
‘No more for me thy task shall be,
Dry clothing to prepare,
When Winter's drenching rain had made
Such needful task thy care.’
[OMITTED]
Dry clothing to prepare,
When Winter's drenching rain had made
Such needful task thy care.’
| Poems (1845) | |