Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LOVE AND DEATH, by CARROLL RYAN


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

LOVE AND DEATH, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: A shadow lies upon the earth
Last Line: Can this be death?
Alternate Author Name(s): Ryan, William Thomas Carroll
Subject(s): Death; Grief; Hearts; Love - Loss Of; Passion; Dead, The; Sorrow; Sadness


I.

A shadow lies upon the earth—
The sunshine is afar:
If love dies here, then death is birth
On some more happy star.
Then twine the ivy round the urn.
I wait the coming ray;
For I to my dead love will turn,
And hail my dying day.

II.

An ancient town by a river lay,
The moonbeams shone on its turrets gray,
Its gables quaint, its steeples high,
Rising far in the quiet sky,
Lifting the emblem cross among
The mystical myriad stars that hung
On the airy robe of the summer night,
That clasped the earth as a lover might,
When the storm of passion in sighs has died,
Enfold in slumber his yielding bride.
The moonbeams shone on the passing stream
That caught, with a rippling laugh, the gleam
Which seemed, like a silver cord, to glow
Through a wonderful woof in the wave below.
Old towers, with ivy and moss o'ergrown,
Looked sullenly down where their images shone,
Changing and flitting, like things in a dream—
Phantoms unreal that tangible seem.
Deserted the streets of that ancient town,
Where the moonbeams steadily wander'd down,
Where over the steps of the lordly hall
The weeds, untrodden, grew rank and tall.
The drawbridge was down at the open gate,
Where shadowy sentinels linger late,
And winds sobbed low thro' the crumbling arch,
Where unwritten centuries silently march.

III.

Cyril, a boy, went forth when first
The sun from purple mountains burst.
An old man gazed with prophetic eye,
As he tenderly bade him a last good-bye,
And said:—"When weary of wanderings,
Mourning the loss of beautiful things
You must know and love, you will backward fly
To the ancient town, like me, to die.
When hope has departed and fear has fled,
And all of the loving and loved are dead,
You will return to the ancient town
To lay your life and your burden down.
But you must love, and you must learn,
And you must suffer, ere you return."

IV.

Eternal Spring! Eternal Truth!
Although our locks turn gray,
We see the glory of our youth
Reviving every day.
Laughing and singing, with footstep springing,
He went along;
His spirit that day as the morn was gay,
His gleesome song
Rose on the air like the song of a bird—
A song the sweetest that ever was heard—
For hope was strong.

V.

He drank in of Nature the glory and joy,
And thought like a man, tho' he felt like a boy.
Often he paused in the wind-shaken grove,
Where wood-spirits whispered their mystical love.
"I am careless, and happy, and free as they,"
He cried as he bounded upon his way.
"I can go where I will, and none shall say—
There you must travel or here you must stay.
Oh! It is happiness truly to be
Free as the wind, as the wild bird, free!"

VI.

Now by a fountain in a shady nook,
The hidden parent of a laughing brook,
That woos the blossoms of a thousand fields,
Returning love the distant heaven yields,
Cyril on mossy bank lay down, until
The soft, low music of the flowing rill
Mingling, as it passed along,
With the wild-bird's loving song,
And the deep, sad symphonies—
Whispers of the wind and trees—
Gently wrapped his tired sense
In the sleep of innocence.

VI.

He was most beautiful while there he slept,
And the coy wind that o'er him softly swept
Played with his curls, and kissing his pale brow
Dropt odors round him. Timid as the vow
A maiden breathes his breath stole from his lip,
So sweet 'twould tempt the honey bee to sip,
As in the natural grace of youth he lay,
As fair a thing as e'er was formed of clay.
The spirit of sweet dreams sat by him there,
And wrapt his soul in visions wondrous fair.
Was it the spirit of that lovely spot
That haunted leafy shade and lonely grot,
Who stole from out the thicket chanting low
A sweet old song?—Ah, few on earth can know,
Or on the tablets of remembrance trace
So fair a form, so beautiful a face.

VIII.

A rustic maiden, but around her hung
The nameless grace which sanctifies the young,
And beautiful, and good; for deep within
The mystic volume of her heart no sin
Was written, nor the marks of grief or rage,
Record of sorrow, or down-folded page,
Such as the wordly hide away, nor dare
To scan, yet feel its haunting presence there.
Awhile she stood in wide-eyed revery
As some sweet thought her captive fancy led,
Foreshadow of the future it might be,
Some jealous power had cast upon her head.
Then she enclasped the robes that loosely clad
Her youthful beauties, and with fingers glad
Laid the soft glories of her bosom bare,
Like a young bud that opens to the air
Its blushing sweetness. Timidly and slow
Her garments fell about her feet. Then Oh!
Beyond conception beautiful and rare,
She stood an angel or a goddess there—
A thing to worship in the heavens above,
To look upon, then perish, mad with love.
And then her looped-up tresses she unroll'd,
And round her fell a flashing veil of gold.
Oh! not the Virgin Goddess when she stood
Beneath the arches of the green old wood,
Clad in immortal loveliness and grace,
Longing impatient for the coming chase,
Was fairer than the laughing, thoughtless maid
Who by that stream her lovely form displayed.
While in the stream she gambolled, tossing high
The spray around her, Cyril with a sigh
Awoke to hear the splashing of the rill
And, looking forth between the leaves, a thrill
Shook his faint soul, his panting heart stood still,
And, like to one enchanted in old days,
He lay entranced and could not choose but gaze.

IX.

The wonderful woof that the sun-shadow weaves
Was dancing in gold and in green thro' the leaves,
And from the forest whispering
There came a voice that seemed to sing
Peace, love, and joy to everything.

X.

How sweet with one we love to dwell
Apart from every haunting care,
To look in eyes that only tell
Of love's surrender beaming there;
To dream, and wake to dream again
The same sweet vision o'er,
Have all the spirit would attain,
And want for nothing more.

XI.

Is my love poison to the one I love,
My prayers destruction even while they move
In deep devotion, true and pure as day?
Must my fond kisses steal the life away
That I would gladly yield mine own to save?
What have I done O Death! O greedy Grave!
That you should rob me thus? There is I fear
Within the circle of these arms some drear,
Most deadly, and most potent charm to kill
All that I love, against my heart and will.

XII.

Give me the cup, Old Wizard, I will drink
Thy vaunted draught. Fear not—I will not shrink
Tho' it contained the dregs of deepest hell
Condensed! Ay, let me clutch it—so—'tis well.
Look here Old Man; I know not what you mean,
And care as little. I have lived and seen
Things that have made me reckless of thine art,
So I will pour upon my burning heart
This broth of thy decocting.—It is sweet
And hath a subtle odor.—Oh! how fleet
Descending shadows gather.—Here, Old Man!
Thou plausible old villain! Give me back
The fragment of my day! It groweth black,
The sun has set. The moon and stars have fled.
Can this be death?





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