Long, long had he waned, from life, but now Strange faintness drained his breath; An icy paleness stole to his brow -- The shadow of coming death. He gazed around the little room Where his happiest hours had been spent, Conning the page of poet and sage, Or holding merriment; He felt he was dying, and calmly took A sad, a long, last farewell look. He threw a glance on all he prized -- A glance that was glazing and dim: He marked the lute unstrung and mute, To be woke no more by him: He dwelt where the precious volumes lay -- Those treasures of pure delight, That had charmed away the lonely day, And solaced the sleepless night -- Cherished till they had formed a part Of idols closest to his heart. He raised his eye with a gentle sigh To the picture-blazoned wall, And his father's portrait met him there, The dearest thing of all! He fixed his gaze, and a tremour passed, Betraying some sudden pain: His dark lids fell; that look was the last! He raised them not again: He gasped, and murmured falteringly, "'Tis o'er; now lead me forth to die!" But the sand was out, his drooping head Sunk heavily on his breast; The chord had snapped, and his soul had fled "Where the weary are at rest!" Years have gone by, but memory still E'er yields to his spirit's claim; My cheek will whiten, my eye will fill, To hear his whispered name; For the moment passes when he took His last, that long, that dying look. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IT COULDN'T BE DONE by EDGAR ALBERT GUEST THE SHOOTING OF DAN MCGREW by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE INAUGURATION SONNET: ERNEST FOX NICHOLS by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 12 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH TO K. H. by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |