WE weep, how often, I and you, Over our lives' poor pitiful ways, -- But if, my friends, we only knew The cold and gloom of coming days! To-day your darling's hand you press, You played with her and smiled; You weep to find untruthfulness, Or in your hands a knife caress, Poor child, poor child! There is no end to craft or lies; No sign of death appears. A blacker light will blind the eyes, And madder planets sweep the skies For years, for years! The last age shall be worst of all, And you and I shall see The sky wrapped in a guilty pall; Laughter on lips shall freeze and fall, -- Anguish of Not-to-be.... You wait for spring, my child, but none Will greet your eyes. To heaven you call out for the sun, -- No sun will rise. You cry, but crying, like a stone, Falls down and dies. Be happy with your lives and ways, -- Stiller than water, low as grass. Oh if we knew what comes to pass, The cold and gloom of coming days! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RETURN (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: SAILORS' [OR MARINERS'] SONG by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE MASTER'S TOUCH by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 12 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE NIGHTINGALE by PHILIP SIDNEY S. BARTHOLOMEW by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE POET'S TERROR AT THE BALIFFS OF EXETER, FR. FREEDOM: A POEM by ANDREW BRICE |