YE shrink not wholly from us when the morn Arises red with slaughter, and the slain Sweet visages of tender dreams remain To haunt us through the wakened hours forlorn, Nor when the noontide cometh, and the thorn Of light is centred in the quivering brain, And Memory her pilgrimage of pain Renews, with fainting footsteps, overworn. Nay, then, what time the satellite of day Pursues his path victorious, and the West, Her clouds beleaguered vanishing away, A desert seems of solitude oppressed, Around us still your hovering pinions stay, The pledges of returning night and rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SONG OF A HEATHEN by RICHARD WATSON GILDER IMPRESSION by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE TERNISSA, FR HELLENICS by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR SATIRES: 51. UPON NOTHING by JOHN WILMOT FESSEDEN'S GARDEN by ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN |