The day when it is new
Dawns dark and drear.
Each hour a bier
On which I lay my thought,
And see it come to life again—
Reincarnated spirit, caught
Back, to murder it in agony, and then—
The weary strife goes on and on,
The minutes reek with blood,
And then the fiends of loneliness soon don
The inky cloak with scarlet hood,
And round me chant their racking dirges chill,
And bring their terrors on to slay my will.
First, slimy, drooling Jealousy appears—
A female draped in timid lover’s fears—
She minces, ambles, leers at me,
And whispers tales, maliciously.
The spume of Hell’s presumption she,
The horror of the lonely. See!
How she begins her work—
The craft! the skill!
It enters like a dirk—
The soul to kill.
She fails, and vanishes in mist.
My soul is adamant, and will resist.
Then Poison comes, in silvery sheen,
The figure holds a cup between
The palms of outstretched hands,
And in a pleasant tone commands me, “Drink!
And no more think.
Why suffer earth’s delirious pain?
The yearning heart that yearns in vain
Will know no peace until the light
Goes out in never-ending night.
I bring you here the only balm
For loneliness. Drink, and be calm!
Where all is still no aching mind
Can harrow you—peace you will find.”
Then Poison hies away;
To tempt me when despair
May crush me some dread day,
And I no longer care!
They fail to find me apt,
So on comes License garbed
In golden lace, and wrapped
About her waist a serpent barbed.
Hell’s finest figure walks
With dignity and grace;
Beseechingly she talks,
And modest is her face.
The fiends do well. They know
The jade
Must masquerade,
Seem innocence, aglow,
My loneliness to break and then beguile!
The trick is hardly worth a smile.
Still I am left alone
To wrestle with the spawn
That comes from Hell to fawn
On me. Can soul atone
For this one cruel act of thine,
My torturer, divine?
Can thoughts so merciless afflict
The mind and leave it sane?
Or bubbles burst, when they are pricked,
And seem the same again?
The weariness of longing and its woe,
The evil thoughts drear loneliness will sow,
The torrid tears,
Abhorrent fears,
The fretful waiting,
The frenzied hating;
All come to me, by night, by day,
When you are far away.
. . . . .
Tired mind is easy prey
For hideous imagination’s play.
ROAMING
Is there no place where I might rest?
No harbour for my soul?
Must I go roaming on unblest,
Without a chart or goal?
Go searching for a place where peace
May soothe away my pain;
Some lonely nook where ills may cease,
And nothing be all gain?
And yet, with all the pain and tears,
That lonely sorrows bring;
Though life’s besetting woes are fears,
To hope’s frail staff I cling.
My fears are hopes in joy’s disguise,
My hopes are fears in flight,
Which seek an earthly paradise,
Beyond the range of sight.
So nestle, pain, you constant friend,
Close to my longing heart—
What matter how the story end—
We two shall never part.