THIS morning not one beam cleaves the cloud-blind, The laggard sun upsurges with sealed eye, And mine own gaze is dull with apathy; With the dim hour, O Soul, content thy mind! Dead stars fade out like sparks upon the wind Blown from the smithy, and night's blossoms die; I sink in mine own sorrow utterly; Come, ponder, O Soul, the dark hours left behind! Night's angels now draw down their sombre pall; They will not hang their lanterns on the steep. Think of the tearless crowds that deathward creep, Of shrines where now no human footsteps fall! Thou art but a grave, O Soul, a dusty heap; Then ponder on sleep and dark funerëal! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A CASTILIAN SONG by SARA TEASDALE EMERSON by MARY ELIZABETH MAPES DODGE HOLY CHRISTMAS by GEORGE HERBERT DORIS; A PASTORAL by ARTHUR JOSEPH MUNBY THE LOVER AND THE BIRDS by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM |