« AnteriorContinua »
WAY! the moor is dark beneath the moon,
Rapid clouds have drank the last pale beam of even :
Away! the gathering winds will call the dark
And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights of heaven.
Pause not! The time is past! Every voice cries, Away!
Tempt not with one last tear thy friend's ungentle mood:
Thy lover's eye, so glazed and cold, dares not entreat thy stay:
Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude.
Away, away! to thy sad and silent home;
Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth; Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go
And complicate strange webs of melancholy mirth.
The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float around thine head:
The blooms of dewy spring shall gleam beneath thy feet:
But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost that binds the dead,
Ere midnight's frown and morning's smile, ere thou and peace may meet.
The cloud shadows of midnight possess their
For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is in the deep:
Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean knows ;
Whatever moves, or toils, or grieves, hath its appointed sleep.
Thou in the grave shalt rest—yet till the phantoms flee
Which that house and heath and garden made dear to thee erewhile,
Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep musings are not free
From the music of two voices and the light of one sweet smile.
To Mary Wollstonecraft
INE eyes were dim with tears un
Yes, I was firm thus wert not thou;
My baffled looks did fear yet dread
To meet thy looks - I could not know
To sit and curb the soul's mute rage
Hiding from many a careless eye
Whilst thou alone, then not regarded, thou alone should be,
The To spend years thus, and be rewarded, As thou, sweet love, requited me When none were near Oh! I did wake From torture for that moment's sake.
Upon my heart thy accents sweet
Of peace and pity fell like dew On flowers half dead; thy lips did meet
Mine tremblingly; thy dark eyes threw Their soft persuasion on my brain, Charming away its dream of pain.
We are not happy, sweet! our state