Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE NIGHT BIRD, by CARROLL RYAN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE NIGHT BIRD, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Down where the cedars are bending
Last Line: "and sorrow is not eternal."
Alternate Author Name(s): Ryan, William Thomas Carroll
Subject(s): Birds; Death; Grief; Love - Loss Of; Solitude; Dead, The; Sorrow; Sadness; Loneliness


Down where the cedars are bending,
Down by the side of the river,
Down where the waters are wending
Their way to the ocean forever,
One night I heard
A lonely bird
Singing, Oh! so sadly singing.
There was such pain
In its wild strain,
So plaintive and so ringing
I paused to listen and methought
The sounds were into meaning wrought,
While faint and low
As sobs of woe,
The lone bird kept repeating
The strange refrain
Of its wild strain,
Where crowded shadows meeting
Made that solitary grove
Like to a grave of love.

"Rolled, rolled in the greedy mould
That taketh and nothing giveth,
Where, where in a dumb despair
No hope of the future liveth,
Lies, lies with o'ershaded eyes,
My love with her love unspoken,
While, while thro' a world of guile
I wander alone, heart-broken.
Strong, strong is the giant wrong,
And he mates with a demon cruel;
Higher, higher be buildeth a fire,
And human hearts are the fuel.

"Bright, bright in the morning light
Beauty and love came flying.
Laid, laid in deathly shade,
Ere eve they were crushed and dying.
Woe! woe! against all below
That liveth and loveth is written.
Life, life is a bitter strife
Where the best are the soonest smitten.
Here, here on this hapless sphere,
All that are beautiful perish.
Hope, hope hath no wider scope
Than faint recollections we cherish.
Earth, earth had its hour of mirth,
But woe is an old, old story.
Fast, fast in the voiceless past
Fleeth our dreams of glory!"

"Oh, hush! unhappy thing," I cried,
"Tho' fate has left thee naught beside,
Hast thou not faith and duty?
What matters the loss of a toy of clay,
The perishing birth of a perishing day,
Tho' it were a thing of beauty?
Can death destroy
The lasting joy
That springs from hope immortal?
Can grieving bring
Thee back the thing
That has fled beyond life's portal?
Still, still from the grave you fill
Cometh a voice supernal—
Trust, trust in God! He is just,
And sorrow is not eternal."





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