SILENT he sits from day to day, With eyes as dull as smoky glass, And wonders in a childish way At shadows on the grass. Or else the spark of memory Lights to his chair, now quick, now slow, The shades of what he used to be, The ghosts of Long Ago: Remembrances of velvet cheeks, And blushes that are Cupid's spies Revealing what a shy heart speaks To lovers' burning eyes. And as they glide in dumb review He stretches out his withered hand, Desiring you, O Joy, and you, O Love, to hear and stand. "Once more," he cries to Time, "once more To rise at dawn and swiftly start To find my milkmaid as of yore And press against her heart! "Again," he cries to Time, "again To swing my boy upon my knee, And kiss the scented cherry-stain On lips upraised to me! "Again to call for Joan, and hear Her steps obedient to the call; But not again the depthless fear, The one thing worst of all— "The narrow coffin and the face Cold, comfortless, and sightless there, And whiter than the filmy lace Her breast was wont to bear!" Ah, Life, that dost begin so fair With eager heart and tender kiss And strokings of Love's golden hair, That thou shouldst come to this— This—that a broken man should watch And pray for just one day—one more— While Death is trifling with the latch, And fumbling at the door! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE COTTON CLUB by CLARENCE MAJOR THE FIRST LESSON by EMILY DICKINSON MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 3 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI UNDERWOODS: BOOK 1: 38 by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON TO AN ETHICAL PREACHER by BRENT DOW ALLINSON BLUE HOURS: 1. CLOUD-HORSE by RICK BAROT |