I am: yet what I am none cares or knows. My friends forsake me like a memory lost, I am the self-consumer of my woes -- They rise and vanish in oblivious host, Like shadows in love's frenzied, stifled throes: -- And yet I am, and live -- like vapours tost Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, Into the living sea of waking dreams, Where there is neither sense of life or joys, But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems; Even the dearest, that I love the best, Are strange -- nay, rather stranger than the rest. I long for scenes, where man hath never trod, A place where woman never smiled or wept -- There to abide with my Creator, God, And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept, Untroubling, and untroubled where I lie, The grass below -- above the vaulted sky. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE DEATH OF DR. ROBERT LEVET, A PRACTISER IN PHYSIC by SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784) THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW (SEPTEMBER 25, 1857) by ROBERT TRAILL SPENCE LOWELL SHUT OUT by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI BLAKE'S APOLOGY FOR HIS CATALOGUE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE GLORY OF ISRAEL by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE THE SOUL-PATH by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE PROLOGUE FOR THE SILVERDALE VILLAGE PLAYERS: EASTER 1924 by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |