THE early lost I mourn, Ah, not the early dead; The early lost return, Young hope's fair blossom shed. Gone up like dust. Oh, deeper than the wail That sounds above the dead It is, when hope must fail, And love is chill'd and dead; No hope, no trust. O curse most dread and dire, O thing most black and foul; Slakeless thirst and quenchless fire That scorcheth heart and soul! I can but weep. O most insidious foe, That vampire-like, doth cling, Draining the blood; yet, lo, Soft fanning with its wing The victim's sleep! O sad and anxious mind Dost think all goodness gone And nought but ill behind, That thus thou makest moan? Oh, calmly think. Calm, saidst thou? I am calm— The calm of deep despair; Say, know'st thou of a balm To heal (the cure is rare) That plague-sore, drink? The words, the sounds I hear, The sights that pass me by, They smite and wound my ear, And blast my wakeful eye By night and day. Thine are these horrors, drink! My country's curse and shame; From them my soul would shrink, And 'gainst thy power and name For ever pray. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MERRY SUMMER MONTHS by WILLIAM MOTHERWELL PRAYER OF AN UNEMPLOYED MAN by W. C. ACKERLY THE SWISS EMIGRANT by LUCY AIKEN CHARACTERS: ELIZABETH RIGBY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE SECOND DAYES LAMENTATION OF THE AFFECTIONATE SHEPHEARD by RICHARD BARNFIELD |