Читать книгу: «Poems», страница 5

SONNET

 
I hear a voice low in the sunset woods;
   Listen, it says: “Decay, decay, decay!”
I hear it in the murmuring of the floods,
   And the wind sighs it as it flies away.
Autumn is come; seest thou not in the skies,
The stormy light of his fierce lurid eyes?
Autumn is come; his brazen feet have trod,
Withering and scorching, o’er the mossy sod.
The fainting year sees her fresh flowery wreath
Shrivel in his hot grasp; his burning breath
Dries the sweet water-springs that in the shade
Wandering along, delicious music made.
A flood of glory hangs upon the world,
Summer’s bright wings shining ere they are furled.
 

TO –

 
Is it a sin to wish that I may meet thee
   In that dim world whither our spirits stray,
   When sleep and darkness follow life and day?
Is it a sin, that there my voice should greet thee
   With all that love that I must die concealing?
   Will my tear-laden eyes sin in revealing
The agony that preys upon my soul?
Is’t not enough through the long, loathsome day,
To hold each look, and word, in stern control?
   May I not wish the staring sunlight gone,
   Day and its thousand torturing moments done,
And prying sights and sounds of men away?
   Oh, still and silent Night! when all things sleep,
   Locked in thy swarthy breast my secret keep:
   Come, with thy vision’d hopes and blessings now!
   I dream the only happiness I know.
 

SONNET

 
Written at four o’clock in the morning, after a ball.
Oh, modest maiden morn! why dost thou blush,
   Who thus betimes art walking in the sky?
’Tis I, whose cheek bears pleasure’s sleepless flush,
   Who shame to meet thy gray, cloud-lidded eye,
Shadowy, yet clear: from the bright eastern door,
   Where the sun’s shafts lie bound with thongs of fire,
Along the heaven’s amber-pavëd floor,
   The glad hours move, hymning their early choir.
O, fair and fragrant morn! upon my brow
   Press thy fresh lips, shake from thy dropping hair
   Cold showers of balmy dew on me, and ere
Day’s chariot-wheels upon th’ horizon glow,
Wrap me within thy sober cloak of gray,
And bear me to thy twilight bowers away.
 

LINES,
In answer to a question

 
I’ll tell thee why this weary world meseemeth
But as the visions light of one who dreameth,
Which pass like clouds, leaving no trace behind;
Why this strange life, so full of sin and folly,
In me awakeneth no melancholy,
Nor leaveth shade, or sadness, on my mind.
’Tis not that with an undiscerning eye
I see the pageant wild go dancing by,
Mistaking that which falsest is, for true;
’Tis not that pleasure hath entwined me,
’Tis not that sorrow hath enshrined me;
I bear no badge of roses or of rue,
But in the inmost chambers of my soul
There is another world, a blessed home,
O’er which no living power holdeth control,
Anigh to which ill things do never come.
There shineth the glad sunlight of clear thought,
With hope, and faith, holding communion high,
Over a fragrant land with flowers wrought,
Where gush the living springs of poesy;
There speak the voices that I love to hear,
There smile the glances that I love to see,
There live the forms of those my soul holds dear,
For ever, in that secret world, with me.
They who have walked with me along life’s way,
And sever’d been by Fortune’s adverse tide,
Who ne’er again, through Time’s uncertain day,
In weal or woe, may wander by my side;
These all dwell here: nor these, whom life alone
Divideth from me, but the dead, the dead;
Those weary ones who to their rest are gone,
Whose footprints from the earth have vanishëd;
Here dwell they all: and here, within this world,
Like light within a summer sun cloud furled,
My spirit dwells.  Therefore, this evil life,
With all its gilded snares, and fair deceivings,
Its wealth, its want, its pleasures, and its grievings,
Nor frights, nor frets me, by its idle strife.
O thou! who readest, of thy courtesy,
Whoe’er thou art, I wish the same to thee!
 

A FAREWELL

 
I shall come no more to the Cedar Hall,
   The fairies’ palace beside the stream;
Where the yellow sun-rays at morning fall
   Through their tresses dark, with a mellow gleam.
 
 
I shall tread no more the thick dewy lawn,
   When the young moon hangs on the brow of night,
Nor see the morning, at early dawn,
   Shake the fading stars from her robes of light.
 
 
I shall fly no more on my fiery steed,
   O’er the springing sward,—through the twilight wood;
Nor reign my courser, and check my speed,
   By the lonely grange, and the haunted flood.
 
 
At fragrant noon, I shall lie no more
   ’Neath the oak’s broad shade, in the leafy dell:
The sun is set,—the day is o’er,—
   The summer is past;—farewell!—farewell!
 

TO A PICTURE

 
Oh, serious eyes! how is it that the light,
The burning rays that mine pour into ye,
Still find ye cold, and dead, and dark, as night—
Oh, lifeless eyes! can ye not answer me?
Oh, lips! whereon mine own so often dwell,
Hath love’s warm, fearful, thrilling touch, no spell
To waken sense in ye?—oh, misery!—
Oh, breathless lips! can ye not speak to me?
Thou soulless mimicry of life! my tears
Fall scalding over thee; in vain, in vain;
I press thee to my heart, whose hopes, and fears,
Are all thine own; thou dost not feel the strain.
Oh, thou dull image! wilt thou not reply
To my fond prayers and wild idolatry?
 

SONNET

 
There’s not a fibre in my trembling frame
That does not vibrate when thy step draws near,
There’s not a pulse that throbs not when I hear
Thy voice, thy breathing, nay, thy very name.
When thou art with me, every sense seems dull,
And all I am, or know, or feel, is thee;
My soul grows faint, my veins run liquid flame,
And my bewildered spirit seems to swim
In eddying whirls of passion, dizzily.
When thou art gone, there creeps into my heart
A cold and bitter consciousness of pain:
The light, the warmth of life, with thee depart,
And I sit dreaming o’er and o’er again
Thy greeting clasp, thy parting look, and tone;
And suddenly I wake—and am alone.
 

AN INVITATION

 
Come where the white waves dance along the shore
Of some lone isle, lost in the unknown seas;
Whose golden sands by mortal foot before
Were never printed,—where the fragrant breeze,
That never swept o’er land or flood that man
Could call his own, th’ unearthly breeze shall fan
Our mingled tresses with its odorous sighs;
Where the eternal heaven’s blue, sunny eyes
Did ne’er look down on human shapes of earth,
Or aught of mortal mould and death-doomed birth:
Come there with me; and when we are alone
In that enchanted desert, where the tone
Of earthly voice, or language, yet did ne’er
With its strange music startle the still air,
When clasped in thy upholding arms I stand,
Upon that bright world’s coral-cradled strand,
When I can hide my face upon thy breast,
While thy heart answers mine together pressed,
Then fold me closer, bend thy head above me,
Listen—and I will tell thee how I love thee.
 

LINES FOR MUSIC

 
         Oh, sunny Love!
Crowned with fresh flowering May,
   Breath like the Indian clove,
Eyes like the dawn of day;
         Oh, sunny Love!
 
 
         Oh, fatal Love!
Thy robe wreath is nightshade all,
   With gloomy cypress wove,
Thy kiss is bitter gall,
         Oh, fatal Love!
 

SONG

 
Never, oh never more! shall I behold
   Thy form so fair,
Or loosen from its braids the rippling gold
   Of thy long hair.
 
 
Never, oh never more! shall I be blest
   By thy voice low,
Or kiss, while thou art sleeping on my breast,
   Thy marble brow.
 
 
Never, oh never more! shall I inhale
   Thy fragrant sighs,
Or gaze, with fainting soul, upon the veil
   Of thy bright eyes.
 

LINES ON A SLEEPING CHILD

 
Oh child! who to this evil world art come,
   Led by the unseen hand of Him who guards thee,
Welcome unto this dungeon-house, thy home!
   Welcome to all the woe this life awards thee!
 
 
Upon thy forehead yet the badge of sin
   Hath worn no trace; thou look’st as though from heaven,
But pain, and guilt, and misery lie within;
   Poor exile! from thy happy birth-land driven.
 
 
Thine eyes are sealed by the soft hand of sleep,
   And like unruffled waves thy slumber seems;
The time’s at hand when thou must wake to weep,
   Or sleeping, walk a restless world of dreams.
 
 
How oft, as day by day life’s burthen lies
   Heavier and darker on thy fainting soul,
Wilt thou towards heaven turn thy weary eyes,
   And long in bitterness to reach the goal!
 
 
How oft wilt thou, upon Time’s flinty road,
   Gaze at thy far off early days, in vain;
Weeping, how oft wilt thou cast down thy load,
   And curse and pray, then take it up again!
 
 
How many times shall the fiend Hope, extend
   Her poisonous chalice to thy thirsty lips!
How oft shall Love its withering sunshine lend,
   To leave thee only a more dark eclipse!
 
 
How oft shall Sorrow strain thee in her grasp,—
   How oft shall Sin laugh at thine overthrow—
How oft shall Doubt, Despair, and Anguish clasp
   Their knotted arms around thine aching brow!
 
 
Oh, living soul, hail to thy narrow cage!
   Spirit of light, hail to thy gloomy cave!
Welcome to longing youth, to loathing age,
   Welcome, immortal! welcome to the grave!
 

A RETROSPECT

 
Life wanes, and the bright sunlight of our youth
   Sets o’er the mountain-tops, where once Hope stood.
Oh, Innocence! oh, Trustfulness! oh, Truth!
   Where are ye all, white-handed sisterhood,
Who with me on my way did walk along,
Singing sweet scraps of that immortal song
That’s hymn’d in Heaven, but hath no echo here?
Are ye departing, fellows bright and clear,
   Of the young spirit, when it first alights
Upon this earth of darkness and dismay?
Farewell! fair children of th’ eternal day,
   Blossoms of that far land where fall no blights,
Sweet kindred of my exiled soul, farewell!
Here I must wander, here ye may not dwell;
Back to your home beyond the founts of light
I see ye fly, and I am wrapt in night!
 

AN INVOCATION

 
Spirit, bright spirit! from thy narrow cell
   Answer me! answer me! oh, let me hear
   Thy voice, and know that thou indeed art near!
That from the bonds in which thou’rt forced to dwell
   Thou hast not broken free, thou art not fled,
   Thou hast not pined away, thou art not dead.
Speak to me through thy prison bars; my life
With all things round, is one eternal strife,
’Mid whose wild din I pause to hear thy voice;
   Speak to me, look on me, thou born of light!
That I may know thou’rt with me, and rejoice.
Shall not this weary warfare pass away?
Shall there not come a better, brighter day?
   Shall not thy chain and mine be broken quite,
      And thou to heaven spring,
      With thine immortal wing,
      And I, still following,
      With steps that do not tire,
      Reach my desire,
      And to thy worship bring
      Some worthy offering?
Oh! let but these dark days be once gone by,
   And thou, unwilling captive, that dost strain,
With tiptoe longing, vainly, towards the sky,
   O’er the whole kingdom of my life shalt reign.
But, while I’m doomed beneath the yoke to bow,
   Of sordid toiling in these caverns drear,
Oh, look upon me sometimes with thy brow
   Of shining brightness; sometimes let me hear
Thy blessed voice, singing the songs of Heaven,
Whence thou and I, together have been driven;
Give me assurance that thou still art nigh,
Lest I sink down beneath my load, and die!
 

A LAMENT FOR THE WISSAHICCON

 
The waterfall is calling me
   With its merry gleesome flow,
And the green boughs are beckoning me,
   To where the wild flowers grow:
 
 
I may not go, I may not go,
To where the sunny waters flow,
To where the wild wood flowers blow;
      I must stay here
      In prison drear,
Oh, heavy life, wear on, wear on,
Would God that thou wert done!
 
 
The busy mill-wheel round and round
Goes turning, with its reckless sound,
And o’er the dam the wafers flow
Into the foaming stream below,
And deep and dark away they glide,
To meet the broad, bright river’s tide;
And all the way
They murmuring say:
“Oh, child! why art thou far away?
Come back into the sun, and stray
Upon our mossy side!”
 
 
I may not go, I may not go,
   To where the gold-green waters run,
   All shining in the summer sun,
And leap from off the dam below
Into a whirl of boiling snow,
Laughing and shouting as they go;
      I must stay here
      In prison drear,
Oh, heavy life, wear on, wear on,
Would God that thou wert done!
 
 
The soft spring wind goes passing by,
   Into the forests wide and cool;
The clouds go trooping through the sky,
   To look down on some glassy pool;
The sunshine makes the world rejoice,
And all of them, with gentle voice,
      Call me away,
      With them to stay,
The blessed, livelong summer’s day.
 
 
I may not go, I may not go,
Where the sweet breathing spring winds blow,
Nor where the silver clouds go by,
Across the holy, deep blue sky,
Nor where the sunshine, warm and bright,
Comes down like a still shower of light;
      I must stay here
      In prison drear,
Oh, heavy life, wear on, wear on,
Would God that thou wert done!
 
 
Oh, that I were a thing with wings!
A bird, that in a May-hedge sings!
A lonely heather bell that swings
   Upon some wild hill-side;
Or even a silly, senseless stone,
With dark, green, starry moss o’ergrown,
   Round which the waters glide.