Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO AN ABSENT MUSE, by CHARLES LOUIS HENRY WAGNER


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO AN ABSENT MUSE, by                    
First Line: Oh, come, fruitful spirit, long known as the muse
Last Line: The mantle of poesy, and hie me to bed.
Subject(s): Muses; Spiritual Healing; Faith-cure


Oh, come, fruitful spirit, long known as the Muse,
I fain would embrace thee, thou hidden recluse,
I've chased o'er the hills and dales of my mind,
But never a trace of thy presence I find.
In the depths of my soul I've called loud and long
To bid thee return and give life to my song;
But now thou art silent, undutiful elf,
And I am alone with my thoughts and myself.

Hitherto thou hast helped me when love's dream I wrote,
Thou hast lent me the fever its passions denote,
But tonight all its fire and deep, ruddy glow
Seems to me and my reason a mere puppet show.
When I sang of the river and old rustic mill,
Thou hadst tuned up my lay with a rhythmical thrill;
I could see the old mill-wheel and the swift-rushing stream,
But now, thou old truant, the mill runs by steam.

I would fain dip my goose-quill in ink steeped in gall,
Which would burn as it flowed as a caustic on all
Who deserve the rebukes which a poet can fling,
But the ink which I use is devoid of its sting.
I would summon the past with its ghosts to appear
For to tell me of things which no mortal should hear;
But just as I try these weird ghosts to control,
My good neighbor next door begins shovelling coal.

I would write of the Spring and its pleasures again,
Of its beautiful flowers and its soft, gentle rain,
But my window looks out on the night damp and cold,
With old Boreas shrieking like a rigorous scold.
In the past I have drawn on full many a time
The home and the mother to make up a rhyme,
But tonight in my study come sounds through the door
Which disturb me a bit,—'tis the mater's low snore.

I have studied the classics my soul to surcharge
With beautiful thoughts which I fain would enlarge,
But the cat's out of doors, and the fire, I know,
Needs to have some more coal, or out it will go.
Maybe, gentle Muse, when my labors are done
You will light up my soul like a radiant sun,
But too late you will be, for soon I will shed
The mantle of poesy, and hie me to bed.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net