Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE VOICE OF MELANCHOLY, by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Return from out thy stillness, though the dust Last Line: Whence learnedst thou of the riches of the grave? Alternate Author Name(s): Ramal, Walter; De La Mare, Walter | ||||||||
'Return from out thy stillness, though the dust Lie thick upon thy earthly beauty, though The ever-wandering shapes of Night creep through Youth's fallen tabernacle! Now in long Surge of recurrent light the days swing by, Soundless above thine ears once musical, Unnumbered by a heart expert in love, Unmarked by those fall'n princes once thine eyes. -- Oh, what defeat, bright warrior, what disgrace, To fret entwined in the bindweed's root, And rot like manna, lovelier than the rose! Once thou would'st turn thy face enriched with smiles, Thy lips a thought asunder, and thy hair Shining within the sun's magnificent ray; Stand would'st thou like a beacon by deep seas: -- All light, all excellence, all joy, gone now; Even the classic beauty of thy face Melted like snow; dark as a moon eclipsed; Never to bright'n again 'neath endless night. . .' So did I brood, unanswered and alone, Crying, 'Return, return!' O simple fool! What would'st thou out of the deep grave should rise? What, from amid death's cypresses, awake; Heave up the sod; press back the fruited boughs; And lift his eyes across the tombs on thee? Would love burn there, or measureless reproach? Would Life's bright mantle, stiff with idiot pomp, Lie easy on shoulders whence a shroud had fall'n? Would Morn's shrill nightingale above his brows Ring sweet on ears long-sealed in echoless peace? Would those grey hands caress earth's tarnish'd orb, And those still feet be amorous of spurs? And that unutterably aged head, Darken'd with pansies fadeless, changeless, still, How would it don again youth's triple crown, Piercing the keenlier as its roses die? Nay, but the very wind that stirred his hair Would seem a tempest to sleep deep as his; And the perplexed galaxy of the stars Intolerable cressets to his eyes, Accustomed to a night as dark as his; And the pale dew of daisied turf at dawn The wine of madness to lips dry as his. Oh, with what shuddering would those atoms meet! With what a burning sluggardry that blood Creep thro' its long disused channels from The roaring chaos of his heart! What grief Would wildly ring in the first words he said! What sad astonishment besteep that brain, And tears more pitiable than infancy's Blur the estranged beauty of the dawn!. . . Leave thou his memory, as his dust, at rest; Nor burden peace with lamentable cries! There lurks no shadow in the crypt of death; Nor any shadow in the height of heaven: Beyond the survey of the dark earth gone He bides encloistered ev'n from love's surmise. Cry then no more, 'Return, return!' -- no more! Thy thoughts are shallow, thy experience brief; Whence learnedst thou of the riches of the grave? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALONE (2) by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE AN EPITAPH by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE ARABIA by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE BUNCHES OF GRAPES by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE ECHO by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE ENGLAND (2) by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE FARE WELL by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE FIVE EYES by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE JOHN MOULDY by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE MOTLEY by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE |
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