I've tracked the paths of the dark wild wood, No footfall there but my own; I've lingered beside the moaning flood, But I never felt alone. There were lovely things for my soul to meet, Rare work for my eye to trace: I held communion close and sweet With a Maker -- face to face. I have sat in the cheerless, vacant room, At the stillest hour of night, With naught to break upon the gloom But the taper's sickly light; And there I have conjured back again The loved ones, lost and dead, Till my swelling heart and busy brain Have hardly deemed them fled. I may rove the waste or tenant the cell, But alone, I never shall be, While this form is a home where the spirit may dwell, There is something to mate with me. Wait till you turn from my mindless clay, And the shroud o'er my breast is thrown, And then, but not till then, ye may say, That I am left alone! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET (6) by GEORGE SANTAYANA ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 14. TO THE HON. CHARLES TOWNSHEND - FROM THE COUNTRY by MARK AKENSIDE WHITE MAGIC: AN ODE by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE THE CHIVALRY OF THE SEA by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES TO SYLO by GAIUS VALERIUS CATULLUS MAIRE BAN ASTOR (FAIR MARY, MY TREASURE) by THOMAS OSBORNE DAVIS |