I. REST dwells not on my brain to-night— But far o'er gone and coming things My fancy takes its dreary flight Upborne by forced and wearied wings. Whate'er of past affliction clings To Memory is revived once more, And if there from the future springs A doubt—a dread—'tis felt before. Thus he who tracks the desert o'er Looks back but on the path of pains, And onward hears the gathering roar Of storms amid the engulfing plains. And thus the captive quits his chains To walk but in the wider cell Of the void world, when nought remains Of all which once he loved so well; Upon the past he may not dwell, 'Tis slavery—torture—madness there, And coming years, more horrible, But the dread gulf of blank despair! How can the wasted spirit bear The ills which e'en the happiest know, That feels, alas! it may not share The joys that soothe e'en guilt and woe. 'Twere well if that impending blow, Which trembling thousands daily dread, Before the morn would lay @3one@1 low Among the dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IRELAND; WRITTEN FOR THE ART AUTOGRAPH DURING IRISH FAMINE by SIDNEY LANIER VENUS OF THE LOUVRE by EMMA LAZARUS HELIOTROPE by HARRY THURSTON PECK OUT FROM BEHIND THIS MASK by WALT WHITMAN THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 2. DIET by JOHN ARMSTRONG |