O life, now that I am no longer mournful For high hopes slaughtered by your treachery; Am no more bitter; never, never scornful Of bitter mocking scorn you thrust at me: My eyes that were once wistful, once defiant, Once joyous, life! once dreamy—ah, no more! Yet I dare ask it: grant them, buffoon tyrant, One careless hour by a kindly shore. O death, it seems just yesterday that fleeing From constant haunting dread of your pursuit, With blood-shot wild eyes fearful and unseeing I sought a nook to hide my worldly loot: Reclining, now, within a scented bower My tortured bones beg to be torn apart; But grant me, death, at least one peaceful hour To weep the weary torments of my heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE IRISH RAPPAREES; A PEASANT BALLAD OF 1691 by CHARLES GAVAN DUFFY A SEA STORY by EMILY HENRIETTA HICKEY THE RUSTIC LAD'S LAMENT IN THE TOWN by DAVID MACBETH MOIR SLEEP AT SEA by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI |