Such doubt, as is pale Expectation’s food
Turned while she tastes to poison, when the will
Is powerless, and the spirit…
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The death knell is ringing
The earth worm is creepingThe mourners are weepingDing dong, bell–
Oh! what is the gain of restless care,
And what are the joys that the modish share,In their sickly haunts of pleasure?My husband’s repast with delight I spread,What though ’tis but rustic fare,May each guardian angel protect his shed,May contentment and quiet be there.And may I support my husband’s years,May I soothe his dying pain,And then may I dry my fast falling tears,And…
Amid the desolation of a city,
Of an extinguished people,—so that PityWeeps o’er the shipwrecks of Oblivion’s wave,There stands the Tower of Famine. It is builtUpon some prison-homes, whose dwellers raveFor bread, and gold, and blood: Pain, linked to Guilt,Agitates the light flame of their hours,Until its vital oil is spent or spilt.There stands the pile, a tower amid the towersAnd…
Music, when soft voices die,
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,Live within the sense they quicken.Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,Are heaped for the beloved’s bed;And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,Love itself shall slumber on.
And said I that all hope was fled,
That each enthusiast wish was dead,Had sank beneath pale Misery’s shrine.–Seest thou the sunbeam’s yellow glow,That robes with liquid streams of light;Yon distant Mountain’s craggy brow.And shows the rocks so fair,–so bright–Tis thus sweet expectation’s ray,In softer view shows distant hours,And portrays each succeeding day,As dressed in fairer, brighter flowers,–The vermeil tinted flowers that blossom;Are…
Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill
Let us remain together still,Then it will be good night.How can I call the lone night good,Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?Be it not said, thought, understood —Then it will be — good night.To hearts which near each other moveFrom evening close to morning light,The night is good; because, my love,They never say good-night.