By The Fates
By the fates that have fastened our life,
By the distance that holds us apart,
By our passion, its sweetness, its strife,
By the longing and ache of the heart;
By our meeting, our parting, our pain
When meeting and parting are o'er,-
Take me hence to where once I have lain,
Ere I die of despair and disdain,
I implore!
'Tis in vain that you bid me be calm.
Can we bridle our pulses at will?
Is fasting for hunger a balm?
Can emptiness emptiness fill?
Shall I wait till I shrivel with fire,
Till I perish of parching and thirst?
Shall I make of my passion a pyre,
And, martyred by drouth and desire,
Die accursed?
I appeal to the hills which beheld
The dawning, the day of our love;
To the moon, when our bosoms first swelled
With its birth, that watched fondly above;
To the city surpassingly fair,
To the revel, the rapture divine,
That flooded the earth and the air
When our mutinous secret lay bare,-
Am I thine?
Will you leave me to faint and to fall,
Plunge me back in the slough of despond?
Shall I be to earth's darkness a thrall,
When I see a whole heaven beyond?
Shall you, who might waken my shell,
Consign it to silence and shame,
And, just as the notes 'gin to swell,
With your hands smite the chords, and dispel
All its fame?
Be this, at your bidding, our doom,
Together, then, break we our chains!
There is hope, there is rest, in the tomb,
When in life nought but anguish remains.
If love be but one torment more,
Oh, come then the gulf or the glaive!
Let us live our delirium once o'er,
Just once, then the comfort explore
Of the grave!
poem by Alfred Austin
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Give Me Thy Heart
Give me thy heart, I leave thee mine;
But oh! till next our pulses meet,
May my fond spirit round thee shine,
Absorb thy soul and guide thy feet,
And then no more my passion pine,
My bosom idly beat.
I have thy pledge, yet take it back
If ever for a moment thou
In sweet resolve shouldst prove less slack
Than I, at parting, leave thee now.
Love's steady light must mark our track,
And not a flickering vow.
But if, when, past this parting ache,
I gaze upon thy face once more,
Thou still Love's burning thirst wouldst slake,
Still to Love's topmost heights wouldst soar;
Oh! then my life's full tide shall break
On thee, as on its shore.
poem by Alfred Austin
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Never Or Now
AN APPEAL
LISTEN, young heroes! your country is calling!
Time strikes the hour for the brave and the true!
Now, while the foremost are fighting and falling,
Fill up the ranks that have opened for you!
You whom the fathers made free and defended,
Stain not the scroll that emblazons their fame
You whose fair heritage spotless descended,
Leave not your children a birthright of shame!
Stay not for questions while Freedom stands gasping!
Wait not till Honor lies wrapped in his pall!
Brief the lips' meeting be, swift the hands' clasping,--
'Off for the wars!' is enough for them all!
Break from the arms that would fondly caress you!
Hark! 't is the bugle-blast, sabres are drawn!
Mothers shall pray for you, fathers shall bless you,
Maidens shall weep for you when you are gone!
Never or now! cries the blood of a nation,
Poured on the turf where the red rose should bloom;
Now is the day and the hour of salvation,--
Never or now! peals the trumpet of doom!
Never or now! roars the hoarse-throated cannon
Through the black canopy blotting the skies;
Never or now! flaps the shell-blasted pennon
O'er the deep ooze where the Cumberland lies!
From the foul dens where our brothers are dying,
Aliens and foes in the land of their birth,--
From the rank swamps where our martyrs are lying
Pleading in vain for a handful of earth,--
From the hot plains where they perish outnumbered,
Furrowed and ridged by the battle-field's plough,
Comes the loud summons; too long you have slumbered,
Hear the last Angel-trump,--Never or Now!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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This Is Our Last Parting Handshake 2011
this our last parting handshake,2011
&
this is our last parting handshake-
there is absolutely no chance of meeting you,
31.12.2011 and 2011
when you fade into the dim tunnels of ' time '
you had spoken to me through the skies
the wind, the sun, the water, the stars
and the earth which bears all my atrocities-
you had been kind to me, harsh at times,
you had wept with me and heartily laughed also-
you had punished me for my wrong-doing;
at times for nothing on my part-
i had my successes and great downfalls;
overall it had been a lasting friendship!
is it your death now
or the rest into the dusty chambers of history?
wear this pearl of my tear-dropp around your heart
as you slowly fall into your deep rest-
i leave you in intolerable pain
as i have no chance of meeting you ever in life!
-s.chandra kalaadhar
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Written In A Fit Of Illness. R. S. S.
In these sad hours, a prey to ceaseless pain,
While feverish pulses leap in every vein,
When each faint breath the last short effort seems
Of life just parting from my feeble limbs;
How wild soe'er my wandering thoughts may be,
Still, gentle Delia, still they turn on thee!
At length if, slumbering to a short repose,
A sweet oblivion frees me from my woes,
Thy form appears, thy footsteps I pursue,
Through springy vales, and meadows washed in dew;
Thy arm supports me to the fountain's brink,
Where by some secret power forbid to drink,
Gasping with thirst, I view the tempting flood
That flies my touch, or thickens into mud;
Till thine own hand immerged the goblet dips,
And bears it streaming to my burning lips.
There borne aloft on fancy's wing we fly,
Like souls embodied to their native sky;
Now every rock, each mountain, disappears;
And the round earth an even surface wears;
When lo! the force of some resistless weight,
Bears me straight down from that pernicious height;
Parting, in vain our struggling arms we close;
Abhorred forms, dire phantoms interpose;
With trembling voice on thy loved name I call;
And gulfs yawn ready to receive my fall.
From these fallacious visions of distress
I wake; nor are my real sorrows less.
Thy absence, Delia, heightens every ill,
And gives e'en trivial pains the power to kill.
Oh! wert thou near me; yet that wish forbear!
'Twere vain, my love,--'twere vain to wish thee near;
Thy tender heart would heave with anguish too,
And by partaking, but increase my woe.
Alone I'll grieve, till gloomy sorrow past,
Health, like the cheerful day-spring, comes at last,--
Comes fraught with bliss to banish every pain,
Hope, joy, and peace, and Delia in her train!
poem by William Cowper
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Looking Forward To Tomorrow
Many things that demand our concern will shortly my friend be gone,
While in the fire they shall burn our life in Eternity shall go on.
The things upon this earth are fleeting, along with our earthly life,
And in the clouds at our meeting, Christ will end our earthly strife.
For the many things in this world are indeed very temporal my friend,
And in the message that we herald, we look eagerly towards the end.
We look beyond the present time and this world that we now live in,
For by God’s own design, the end is when our new life shall begin.
We live in hope this present day as we look forward towards tomorrow,
For this present world in many ways brings upon us all many sorrows.
And after the earth is purged of sin, by The Lord’s cleansing fire,
Then a new world will begin where righteousness will be man’s desire.
But for now we press forward longing for that Eternal City up above,
And by the hand of The Lord, we are guided by His Grace and Love.
Being only our temporal place the things on earth will one day cease,
So as we seek His loving face God fills our heart with Eternal Peace.
For The Grace of God has appeared to teach us how to live each day,
With a heart of reverent fear, as we live in this present wicked age.
As we wait for our Blessed Lord who redeemed every single one of us,
We can all rest assured that He will deliver us from this wickedness.
(Copyright ©07/2004)
Desire
To live our life without desire
To enter those days without a craving
Having nothing to search for or acquire
Would make our existence so depraving.
To not having the want to need or search
Or the passion to look for and then obtain
We would be like the parrot upon its perch
Only to look and watch, and then complain.
We must have that aspiration and that need
To fill our hunger and also our longing
To make a wish and then plant that seed
And then feel the passion and the belonging.
We must live our life as if its our very last day
With a hunger and want and a soul on fire
And then gritting our teeth and do as we say
And then live this day and life in only desire.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Lonely
Emptiness in my heart
Emptiness in my soul,
Emptiness in my life
Loneliness takes it's toll.
Nobody to love me
Nobody to care,
Trapped in this lonely world
For nobody is there.
Lonely while standing
In a crowded room,
But screaming to be noticed
When locked in my tomb.
I just want to love
And be loved in return,
Somebody take my heart
And show some concern.
I'm lonely and it hurts
I'm crying in pain,
Somebody help me
My heart is slain.
Fill my lonely heart
Fill my lonely soul,
Fill my lonely life
Make me feel whole.
poem by Adam McKim
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Midnight
1.
The night is clear and still. The moon rides high.
The green leaves whisper where the soft winds blow.
Above, the stars shine in a sapphire sky —
The city sleeps below.
2.
Sleeps? Nay. The million- fibred heart is wrung
With wild desire and ceaseless pain and fear.
Could its dumb anguish find a fitting tongue,
The very dead would hear.
3.
Under these quiet roofs, this silvery haze,
How many a captive spirit wakes and weeps!
How many a sorrow, hid from human gaze,
Each shadowy dwelling keeps!
4.
The struggling men, the lonely maids unwed,
The desolate mothers and the martyred wives,
The starving little ones that cry for bread,
Still live their suffering lives.
5.
Though moon shines fair and winds are breathing low —
Though the great dream-like city lies in light —
The smoke of all that seething human woe
Darkens my mind to- night.
6.
Brothers, for whom the world can find no place —
Brothers and sisters, born to want and wrong —
Born weak and maimed, to run a hopeless race
Against the hale and strong —
7.
How can I rest while they are racked with pain?
While they toil on with toil that cannot cease?
While hungry children wail for bread in vain,
How can I sleep in peace?
8.
Ah, hapless fate! To hope, to fail, to spend,
From chilling dawn till midnight shadows fall;
Perchance to gain no haven at the end —
No new world — after all!
9.
When poor, brief hopes and joys have passed away —
When the long toil is done and pain is past —
To reach the limit of life's little day,
And find naught else, at last
10.
When strength is spent, when soul and spirit sink —
With helpless hands outstretched and nerveless brain —
To stand alone upon that dreadful brink
And cry for light in vain!
11.
Poor mortal wanderers in immortal realms,
For whom no staff avails, no beacons shine!
My kindred soul their burden overwhelms —
My brothers' woes are mine.
12.
For me the night has come — the day is done —
A wall of darkness hides both sea and shore;
My little lamps have failed me, one by one —
I grope and crawl no more.
13.
Where am I? — oh, where am I? I can feel —
To feel my pain — but neither hear nor see;
My heart is faint, my brain begins to reel —
O God, speak Thou to me!
14.
Help me! Or, in Thy pity, take me hence
While feeling heart and thinking brain are whole —
Or give me any rag of carnal sense
To wrap my naked soul.
15.
Some common cloak of vulgar hopes and fears,
Some earth- spun veil, that shall be warm and stout
To keep this infinite Silence from mine ears —
To shut this Darkness out!
16.
The mocking moon shines on. The flowers are sweet.
The night is still. The winds are breathing balm.
The silver city clustered at my feet
Seems bathed in light and calm.
17.
But I? — I choke in this grief- laden air.
I turn and weep — I close my window now.
One voice breaks forth from my profound despair —
Beloved, where art thou?
18.
She sleeps. She stirs. She hears the lightest fall
Of my hushed footsteps on her chamber floor.
Her spirit answers to my spirit's call,
And I take heart once more.
19.
She draws me down upon that faithful breast;
I clasp her close — those sweetest lips I kiss —
And soul and body, in her arms at rest,
Swim in deep seas of bliss.
20.
She makes me strong with stronger Fate to cope —
Fresh fire to mine her beating pulses give.
O my true mate, in thee alone I hope!
In thee alone I live!
21.
O love, till blood is cold and brain is dust,
I can fight on — if thou wilt fight with me —
If I can shelter in thy truth and trust,
And bear life's woes with thee!
poem by Ada Cambridge
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Love and Parting
Your wedding dress is not ready yet,
A choir does not sing in our honor,
But time is hurrying us not to forget
The horses that ask for honeymooners.
If only the troika would not lose its way
And the bells would never stop ringing.
Parting is a high price for the love to pay,
Two friends for eternal love are singing.
We've opened the love gate ourselves,
We've harnessed the happiest troika,
And here is something looming tells:
Love and parting are always an alliance.
The holy science -to hear each other
Through years, through times and life
Two friends are eternal - love and parting
They pass through our hearts with a strife.
The longer our life is- the years are shorter,
The sweeter the voice of our friends,
Each meeting becomes much warmer,
Love and then parting our life demands.
The bank, then the river, the sun, then the storm,
The twittering swallows, then cawing of crows,
Love and parting - they two eternal roads form,
Love and parting- this duet always together goes.
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Love's Last Adieu
The roses of Love glad the garden of life,
Though nurtur'd 'mid weeds dropping pestilent dew,
Till Time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife,
Or prunes them for ever, in Love's last adieu!
In vain, with endearments, we soothe the sad heart,
In vain do we vow for an age to be true;
The chance of an hour may command us to part,
Or Death disunite us, in Love's last adieu!
Still Hope, breathing peace, through the grief-swollen breast,
Will whisper, ÒOur meeting we yet may renew:Ó
With this dream of deceit, half our sorrow's represt,
Nor taste we the poison, of Love's last adieu!
Oh! mark you yon pair, in the sunshine of youth,
Love twin'd round their childhood his flow'rs as they grew;
They flourish awhile, in the season of truth,
Till chill'd by the winter of Love's last adieu!
Sweet lady! why thus doth a tear steal its way,
Down a cheek which outrivals thy bosom in hue?
Yet why do I ask?---to distraction a prey,
Thy reason has perish'd, with Love's last adieu!
Oh! who is yon Misanthrope, shunning mankind?
From cities to caves of the forest he flew:
There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind;
The mountains reverberate Love's last adieu!
Now Hate rules a heart which in Love's easy chains,
Once Passion's tumultuous blandishments knew;
Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins,
He ponders, in frenzy, on Love's last adieu!
How he envies the wretch, with a soul wrapt in steel!
His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few,
Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel,
And dreads not the anguish of Love's last adieu!
Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o'ercast;
No more, with Love's former devotion, we sue:
He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast;
The shroud of affection is Love's last adieu!
In this life of probation, for rapture divine,
Astrea declares that some penance is due;
From him, who has worshipp'd at Love's gentle shrine,
The atonement is ample, in Love's last adieu!
Who kneels to the God, on his altar of light
Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew:
His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight,
His cypress, the garland of Love's last adieu!
Here And Now
HERE AND NOW.
Here, in the heart of the world,
Here, in the noise and the din,
Here, where our spirits were hurled
To battle with sorrow and sin,
This is the place and the spot
For knowledge of infinite things;
This is the kingdom where Thought
Can conquer the prowess of kings.
Wait for no heavenly life,
Seek for no temple alone;
Here, in the midst of the strife,
Know what the sages have known.
See what the Perfect Ones saw-
God in the depth of each soul,
God as the light and the law,
God as beginning and goal.
Earth is one chamber of Heaven,
Death is no grander than birth.
Joy in the life that was given,
Strive for perfection on earth.
Here, in the turmoil and roar,
Show what it is to be calm;
Show how the spirit can soar
And bring back its healing and balm.
Stand not aloof nor apart,
Plunge in the thick of the fight.
There in the street and the mart,
That is the place to do right.
Not in some cloister or cave,
Not in some kingdom above,
Here, on this side of the grave,
Here, should we labor and love.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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No Gospel like this Feast
No Gospel like this Feast
Spread for Thy Church by Thee;
Nor prophet nor evangelist
Preach the glad news so free.
All our Redemption cost,
All our Redemption won;
All it has won for us, the lost—
All it cost Thee, the Son;--
Thine was the bitter price,
Ours is the free gift given;
Thine was the Blood of Sacrifice,
Ours is the wine of Heaven!
For Thee, the burning thirst,
The shame, the mortal strife,
The broken heart, the side transpierced;
To us, the Bread of Life!
To Thee, our curse and doom
Wrapt round Thee with our sin;
The horror of that mid-day gloom,
The deeper night within.
To us, Thy home in light,
Thy “Come, ye blessed, come!”
Thy bridal raiment pure and white,
Thy Father’s welcome home.
Here we would rest midway,
As on a sacred height,
That darkest and that brightest Day
Meeting before our sight;
From that dark depth of woes
Thy love for us hath trod,
Up to the heights of blest repose
Thy love prepares with God:
Till, from self’s chains released,
One sight alone we see—
Still at the Cross, as at the Feast,
Behold Thee, only Thee!
poem by Elizabeth Rundle Charles (1863)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Usurer
FATE says, and flaunts her stores of gold,
'I'll loan you happiness untold.
What is it you desire of me?'
A perfect hour in which to be
In love with life, and glad, and good,
The bliss of being understood,
Amid life's cares a little space
To feast your eyes upon a face,
The whispered word, the love-filled tone,
The warmth of lips that meet your own,
To-day of Fate you borrow;
In hunger of the heart, and pain,
In loneliness, and longing vain,
You pay the debt to-morrow!
Prince, let grim Fate take what she will
Of treasures rare, of joys that thrill,
Enact the cruel usurer's part,
Leave empty arms and hungry heart,
Take what she can of love and trust,
Take all life's gladness, if she must,
Take meeting smile and parting kiss–
The benediction and the bliss.
What then? The fairest thing of all
Is ours, O Prince, beyond recall–
Not even Fate would dare to seize
Our store of golden memories.
poem by Jean Blewett
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Dedication To Joseph Mazzini
Take, since you bade it should bear,
These, of the seed of your sowing,
Blossom or berry or weed.
Sweet though they be not, or fair,
That the dew of your word kept growing,
Sweet at least was the seed.
Men bring you love-offerings of tears,
And sorrow the kiss that assuages,
And slaves the hate-offering of wrongs,
And time the thanksgiving of years,
And years the thanksgiving of ages;
I bring you my handful of songs.
If a perfume be left, if a bloom,
Let it live till Italia be risen,
To be strewn in the dust of her car
When her voice shall awake from the tomb
England, and France from her prison,
Sisters, a star by a star.
I bring you the sword of a song,
The sword of my spirit's desire,
Feeble; but laid at your feet,
That which was weak shall be strong,
That which was cold shall take fire,
That which was bitter be sweet.
It was wrought not with hands to smite,
Nor hewn after swordsmiths' fashion,
Nor tempered on anvil of steel;
But with visions and dreams of the night,
But with hope, and the patience of passion,
And the signet of love for a seal.
Be it witness, till one more strong,
Till a loftier lyre, till a rarer
Lute praise her better than I,
Be it witness before you, my song,
That I knew her, the world's banner-bearer,
Who shall cry the republican cry.
Yea, even she as at first,
Yea, she alone and none other,
Shall cast down, shall build up, shall bring home;
Slake earth's hunger and thirst,
Lighten, and lead as a mother;
First name of the world's names, Rome.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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From Demon
Sailless and without a rudder,
On the ocean of the air--
Float the choirs of stars harmonious,
'Mid the mists eternal there;
Fleecy flocks of clouds elusive
Drift across immensity,
Leaving ne'er a track behind them,
Following their destiny.
Hour of parting, hour of meeting
They know not,--nor grief, nor rest--
Theirs no longing for the future,
Theirs no sorrow for the past.
By thy day of anguish broken,
Think of them and calm thy woe--
Be indifferent as they are
To the pangs of earth below!
poem by Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov
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(My Love) Heaven Descends On Earth
Wrapped in your arms
Souls entwined
Floating in love's whipped cream
Silver lined
Heaven descends on earth.....
Swimming rose petals
Heady wine
A poem befalls upon us
God's sign
Heaven descends on earth......
Long nights of passion
Nine to nine
Climbing peaks unimagined
Finding our shrines
Heaven descends on earth.....
Completing each other
Love divine
Birth after birth after birth
Forever thine
Heaven descends on earth.....
poem by Renu Rakheja
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Clara Morris (Written for a Benefit Given Mrs. Morris)
The Radiant Ruler of Mystic Regions
Where souls of artists are fitted for birth,
Gathered together their lovely legions
And fashioned a woman to shine on earth.
They bathed her in splendor
They made her tender:
They gave her a nature both sweet and wild.
They gave her emotions
Like storm stirred oceans,
And they gave her the heart of a little child.
These Radiant Rulers (who are not human
Nor yet divine like the gods above)
Poured all their gifts in the soul of a woman
That fragile vessel meant only for love.
Still more they taught her,
Still more they brought her-
Till they gave her the world for a harp one day,
And they bade her string it-
They bade her ring it,
While the stars all wondered to hear her play.
She touched the strings in a master fashion,
She uttered the cry of a world's despair.
Its long-hid secret, its pent-up passion,
She gave to the winds in a vibrant air.
For ah! the heart of her,
That was the art of her,
Great with the feeling that makes men kin.
Art unapproachable,
Art all uncoachable,
Fragrance and flame from the spirit within.
The earth turns ever an ear unheeding
To the sorrows of art, as it cries for more:
And she played on the harp till her hands were bleeding
And her brow was bruised by the laurels she wore.
She knew the trend of it,
She knew the end of it.
Men heard the music and men felt the thrill.
Bound to the altar
Of art, could she falter?
Then came a silence-the music was still.
And yet in the echoes we seem to hear it
In waves unbroken it circles the earth:
And we catch in the light of her dauntless spirit
A gleam from the center that gave her birth.
Still is the fame of her
Felt in the name of her.
But low lies the harp that once thrilled to her strain.
No hand has taken it,
No hand can waken it-
For the soul of her art was her secret of pain.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Last Words
A dreadful darkness closes in
On my bewildered mind;
O let me suffer and not sin,
Be tortured yet resigned.
Through all this world of whelming mist
Still let me look to Thee,
And give me courage to resist
The Tempter till he flee.
Weary I am -- O give me strength
And leave me not to faint;
Say Thou wilt comfort me at length
And pity my complaint.
I've begged to serve Thee heart and soul,
To sacrifice to Thee
No niggard portion, but the whole
Of my identity.
I hoped amid the brave and strong
My portioned task might lie,
To toil amid the labouring throng
With purpose pure and high.
But Thou hast fixed another part,
And Thou hast fixed it well;
I said so with my breaking heart
When first the anguish fell.
For Thou hast taken my delight
And hope of life away,
And bid me watch the painful night
And wait the weary day.
The hope and the delight were Thine;
I bless Thee for their loan;
I gave Thee while I deemed them mine
Too little thanks, I own.
Shall I with joy Thy blessings share
And not endure their loss?
Or hope the martyr's crown to wear
And cast away the cross?
These weary hours will not be lost,
These days of passive misery,
These nights of darkness anguish tost
If I can fix my heart on Thee.
Weak and weary though I lie,
Crushed with sorrow, worn with pain,
Still I may lift to Heaven mine eyes
And strive and labour not in vain,
That inward strife against the sins
That ever wait on suffering;
To watch and strike where first begins
Each ill that would corruption bring,
That secret labour to sustain
With humble patience every blow,
To gather fortitude from pain
And hope and holiness from woe.
Thus let me serve Thee from my heart
Whatever be my written fate,
Whether thus early to depart
Or yet awhile to wait.
If Thou shouldst bring me back to life
More humbled I should be;
More wise, more strengthened for the strife,
More apt to lean on Thee.
Should Death be standing at the gate
Thus should I keep my vow;
But, Lord, whate'er my future fate
So let me serve Thee now.
poem by Anne Brontë
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Passion's Pyre
Shivers transcend over my body when PASSION whispers in my ear,
Then PASSION gently caresses my skin and electricity fills the air!
Insatiable PASSION takes control and lights the flame of desire,
I am but kindling set at the base of PASSION'S growing pyre.
When PASSIONS' pyre roars to life it's FIRE I become,
Wild with desire in PASSIONS' PYRE I burn until I am done...
poem by Wyatt Morrison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To A Departed Spirit
From the bright stars, or from the viewless air,
Or from some world unreached by human thought,
Spirit, sweet spirit! if thy home be there,
And if thy visions with the past be fraught,
Answer me, answer me!
Have we not communed here of life and death?
Have we not said that love, such love as ours,
Was not to perish as a rose's breath,
To melt away, like song from festal bowers?
Answer me, answer me!
Thine eye's last light was mine - the soul thtat shone
Intensely, mournfully, through gathering haze -
Didst thou bear with thee to the shore unknown,
Nought of what lived in that long, earnest gaze!
Hear, hear, and answer me!
Thy voice - its low, soft, fervent, farewell tone
Thrilled through the tempest of the parting strife,
Like a faint breeze: - oh, from that music flown,
Send back
one
sound, if love's be quenchless life,
But once, oh! answer me!
In the still noontide, in the sunset's hush,
In the dead hour of night, when thought grows deep,
When the heart's phantoms from the darkness rush,
Fearfully beautiful, to strive with sleep -
Spirit! then answer me!
By the remembrance of our blended prayer;
By all our tears, whose mingling made them sweet
By our last hope, the victor o'er despair; -
Speak! if our souls in deathless yearnings meet;
Answer me, answer me!
The grave is silent: - and the far-off sky,
And the deep midnight - silent all, and lone!
Oh! if thy buried love make no reply,
What voice has earth! - Hear, pity, speak, mine own!
Answer me, answer me!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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