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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE CHANGE, by ALEXANDER SMITH Poet's Biography First Line: Oh! Never, never can I call Last Line: Enough to hide the eyes of death. | |||
"OH! never, never can I call Another morning to my day, And now through shade to shade I fall From afternoon to evening gray." In bitterness these words I said, And, lo! when I expected least, -- For day was gone, -- a moonrise spread Its emerald radiance up the east. By passion's gaudy candle-lights, I sat and watched the world's brave play; Blown out, -- how poor the trains and sights Looked in the cruel light of day! I cursed Man for his spaniel heart, His bounded brain, his lust of pelf -- Alas! each crime of field and mart Lived in a dark disease of self. I saw the smiles and mean salaams Of slavish hearts; I heard the cry Of maddened people's throwing palms Before each cheered and timbreled lie; I loathed the brazen front and brag Of bloated time; in self-defence Withdrew I to my lonely crag, And fortress of indifference. But Nature is revenged on those Who turn from her to lonely days: Contentment, like the speedwell, blows Along the common beaten ways. The dead and thick green-mantled moats That gird my house resembled me, Or some long-weeded hull that rots Upon a glazing tropic sea. And madness ever round us lies, The final bourne and end of thought; And Pleasure shuts her glorious eyes At one cold glance and melts to naught; And Nature cannot hear us moan; She smiles in sunshine, raves in rain -- The music breathed by Love alone Can ease the world's immortal pain. The sun forever hastes sublime, Waved onward by Orion's lance; Obedient to the spheral chime, Across the world the seasons dance; The flaming elements ne'er bewail Their iron bounds, their less or more; The sea can drown a thousand sail, Yet rounds the pebbles on the shore. I looked with pride on what I'd done, I counted merits o'er anew, In presence of the burning sun, Which drinks me like a drop of dew. A lofty scorn I dared to shed On human passions, hopes, and jars, I, standing on the countless dead, And pitied by the countless stars. But mine is now a humbled heart, My lonely pride is weak as tears; No more I seek to stand apart, A mocker of the rolling years. Imprisoned in this wintry clime, I've found enough, O Lord, of breath, Enough to plume the feet of time, Enough to hide the eyes of death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING; OR, TEN YEARS AFTER by ALEXANDER SMITH POSTHUMOUS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON HIPPOLYTUS TEMPORIZES by HILDA DOOLITTLE THE CAVALIER'S SONG by WILLIAM MOTHERWELL THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE BREAKING by MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON |
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