Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DYING POETS FAREWELL, by HORACE SMITH


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE DYING POETS FAREWELL, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: O thou wondrous arch of azure
Last Line: To that high and laurelled quire.
Alternate Author Name(s): Smith, Horatio
Subject(s): Death; Earth; Farewell; Flowers; Poetry & Poets; Soul; Dead, The; World; Parting


O THOU wondrous arch of azure,
Sun, and starry plains immense!
Glories that astound the gazer,
By their dread magnificence!
O thou ocean, whose commotion
Awes the proudest to devotion!
Must I -- must I from ye fly,
Bid ye all adieu -- and die?

O ye keen and gusty mountains,
On whose top I braved the sky!
O ye music-pouring fountains,
On whose marge I loved to lie!
O ye posies -- lilies, roses,
All the charms that earth discloses!
Must I -- must I from ye fly,
Bid ye all adieu -- and die?

O ye birds whose matin chorus
Taught me to rejoice and bless!
And ye herds, whose voice sonorous
Swelled the hymn of thankfulness!
Learned leisure, and the pleasure
Of the Muse, my dearest treasure;
Must I -- must I from ye fly,
Bid ye all adieu -- and die?

O domestic ties endearing,
Which still chain my soul to earth!
O ye friends whose converse cheering,
Winged the hours with social mirth!
Songs of gladness, chasing sadness,
Wine's delight, without its madness;
Must I, must I from ye fly,
Bid ye all adieu -- and die?

Yes -- I now fulfil the fiction
Of the swan that sings in death; --
Earth, receive my benediction,
Air, inhale my parting breath;
Hills and valleys, forest alleys,
Prompters of my muse's sallies,
Fields of green and skies of blue,
Take, O! take my last adieu.

Yet perhaps when all is ended,
And the grave dissolves my frame,
The elements from which 'twas blended
May their several parts reclaim;
Waters flowing, breezes blowing,
Earth, and all upon it growing,
Still may have my altered essence,
Ever floating in their presence;

While my disembodied spirit
May to fields Elysian soar,
And some lowest seat inherit
Near the mighty bards of yore;
Never, never to dissever,
But to dwell in bliss for ever,
Tuning an enthusiast lyre
To that high and laurelled quire.





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