Farewell to the smile of the sun,
The cheerful Religion of Trust!
I centred my future in One,
And wake as it crumbles to dust!
Oh, blest are the tears that are shed
For love that was true to the last.
The future restores us the dead,
The false we expel from the past.—
Yet all, when I summon my pride
Thyself as I find thee to see,
Again there descends to my side
The angel I dreamt thee to be.
Again thou enchantest my ear;
My soul hangs again on thy breath,
And murmurs that melt in a tear
Repeat "I am thine unto death!"
Again is the light of thine eyes
The limpid reflection of Truth;
Thy smile gives me back to the skies
That lit the ideals of youth.
Oh, is it thyself that I mourn,
Or is it that dream of my heart
Which glides from the reach of my scorn,
And soars from the clay that thou art?
Well, go—take this comfort with thee,
(I know thou art vain of thy power,)
Thou hast blighted existence for me,
Thou hast left not a germ for the flower;
My star may escape the eclipse,
The music that tuned it is o'er;
The smile may return to my lips—
It fades from my heart evermore;
Yet dark on thy being will fall
A shade from the wreck of my own,
Long years shalt thou sigh over all
Thou hast in a day overthrown.
For none shall exalt thee as I!
Ah, none whom thy spells may control
Shall deck thee in hues from the sky,
And breathe in thy statue his soul.—