Ye airy Phantoms, by whose pow'r Night's curtains spread a deeper shade; Who, prowling in the murky hour, The weary sense with spells invade; Why round the fibres of my brain Such desolating miseries fling, And with new scenes of mental pain Chase from my languid eye sleep's balm-dispensing wing? Ah! why, when o'er the darken'd globe All Nature's children sink to rest— Why, wrapp'd in Horror's ghastly robe, With shad'wy hand assail my breast? Why conjure up a tribe forlorn, To menace, where I bend my way? Why round my pillow plant the thorn, Or fix the Demons dire in terrible array? Why, when the busy day is o'er— A day, perhaps of @3tender thought@1— Why bid my eager gaze explore New prospects, with new anguish fraught? Why bid my madd'ning sense descry The Form in silence I adore? His magic smile, his murd'rous eye! Then bid me wake to prove the fond illusion o'er! When, fev'rish with the throbs of pain, And bath'd with many a trickling tear, I close my cheated eyes again, Despair's wild bands are hov'ring near: Now borne upon the yelling blast, O'er craggy Peaks I bend my flight; Now on the yawning Ocean cast, I plunge unfathom'd depths, amid the shades of night! Or, borne upon the billows' Ire, O'er the vast waste of waters drear, Where shipwreck'd Mariners expire, No friend their dying plaints to hear, I view far off the craggy cliff, Whose white top mingles with the skies; While at its base the shatter'd Skiff, Wash'd by the foaming wave, in many a fragment lies. Oft, when the Morning's gaudy beams My lattice gild with sparkling light, O'erwhelm'd with agonizing dreams, And bound in spells of fancied Night, I start, convulsive, wild, distraught! By some pale Murd'rer's poniard press'd, Or by the grinning Phantom caught, Wake from the madd'ning grasp with horror-freezing breast! Then down my cold and pallid cheek The mingling tears of joy and grief The soul's tumultuous feeling speak, And yield the struggling heart relief; I smile to know the danger past, But soon the radiant moment flies— Soon is the transient Day o'ercast, And hope steals trembling from my languid eyes! If thus, for moments of repose, Whole hours of mis'ry I must know; If, when each sunny day shall close, I must each gleam of peace forego! If for one little morn of mirth, This breast must feel long nights of pain, Oh! Life, thy joys are nothing worth! Then let me sink to rest—AND NEVER WAKE AGAIN! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...O MORS! QUAM AMARA EST MEMORIA TUA HOMINI PACEM HABENTI by ERNEST CHRISTOPHER DOWSON CHARLESTON by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE THE INVITATION by GEORGE HERBERT KILLED AT THE FORD by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ELAINE by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY STRANGE MEETINGS: 10 by HAROLD MONRO |