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Never, tho' my mortal summers to such length of years
should come As the many-winter'd crow that leads the clanging rookery
Where is comfort ? in division of the records of the
mind ? Can I part her from herself, and love her, as I knew her,
I remember one that perish'd: sweetly did she speak and
Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was to love.
Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the love she
bore ? No-she never loved me truly : love is love for evermore.
Comfort ? comfort scorn’d of devils! this is truth the poet
sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier
Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy heart be
put to proof, In the dead unhappy night, and when the rain is on the
Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, and thou art staring at
the wall, Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and the shadows rise
Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing to his drunken
sleep, To thy widow'd marriage-pillows, to the tears that thou
Thou shalt hear the “ Never, never," whisper'd by the
from out the distance in the ringing of thine ears;
And a song
And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient kindness on
thy pain. Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow : get thee to thy rest
Nay, but Nature brings thee solace ; for a tender voice
'Tis a purer life than thine ; a lip to drain thy trouble dry.
Baby lips will laugh me down : my latest rival brings
thee rest. Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the mother's
0, the child too clothes the father with a dearness not
Half is thine and half is his : it will be worthy of the
0, I see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty part, With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a
" They were dangerous guides the feelings—she herself
was not exemptTruly, she herself had suffer'd”—Perish in thy self-con
Overlive it-lower yet—be happy! wherefore should
I care ?
I myself must mix with action, lest I wither by despair.
What is that which I should turn to, lighting upon days
like these ?
Every door is barr’d with gold, and opens but to golden
Every gate is throng’d with suitors, all the markets over
I have but an angry fancy: what is that which I should do ?
I had been content to perish, falling on the foeman's
When the ranks are rollid in vapour, and the winds are
laid with sound.
But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honour
feels, And the nations do but murmur, snarling at each other's Can I but relive in sadness? I will turn that earlier page. Hide me from my deep emotion, O thou wondrous
Make me feel the wild pulsation that I felt before the
strife, When I heard my days before me, and the tumult of my
Yearning for the large excitement that the coming years
would yield, Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his father's
And at night along the dusky highway near and nearer
drawn, Sees in heaven the light of London flaring like a dreary
And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before him then, Underneath the light he looks at, in among the throngs
of men ;