I WANDER on the barren moors Alone, and thy dear memory lures My thoughts to anguish, Madeline. O, would that Time could backward roll, And flash upon my weary soul Days that seem never to have been! Alas, alas, I cannot trace The perfect outline of thy face! It fades, it cheats me -- as I stray All aimless on this dismal waste, And strive with colours of the Past To gild yon dreary verge of day. Dark plain, that, like a stagnant sea, Dost mock my spirit's vacancy; Still darker hills, that loom behind; You vex my vision with the sense Of something lost, an influence Like wailings of the midnight wind. I close my sight . . in vain! The hues Of liquid light are there, as dews Upon an opening rose; the lines Are dimmed; they vanish; all is blank . . Through the tall reeds and rushes dank The sad cold wind of evening whines! What dungeon worse than this may be? A barren plain without a tree, And these bleak mountains, underneath Their canopy of heavy cloud! The earth is folded in a shroud, And breathes the humid air of Death! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOREIGN LANDS by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON BY THE SALPETRIERE by THOMAS ASHE THREE SONNETS WRITTEN IN MID-CHANNEL: 3 by ALFRED AUSTIN AN INSCRIPTION by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE BUTTERFLY'S MADRIGAL by FRANK GELETT BURGESS FALL FIELDS by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |