Opals (Custance)/A Mood
A Mood
The sun aslant the carpet, and the rainBlown sobbingly against the window glass,While I sit silent with a voiceless pain,Pressing my heart between its cruel hands.The slow hours pass.Between the dawn lands and the sunset landsMy soul walks wearily with aching eyes,The whole world grey about her where she stands!Sorrow and she are tired of the long noon,The sullen skies . . .My friend at work hums softly an old tune,And in the grate, new lit, a fluctuant firePuts forth pale pointed flame flowers that full soonFret all the rough black coals to fairy gold Of tower and spire!Sunlight and firelight, but the world feels cold—The wet trees toss their weight of tumbled green;And shreds of torn cloud banners manifoldDrift up the dome of heaven, while slips the lightPearl hued, between . . .. . . I wonder shall I meet you in the night,In that dear house of Dreams, Sleep's dwelling-place?O Prince! O Lord of life! O heart's delight!O Lover! never this side of the starsSeen face to face! . . .In vain my winged songs beat against the barsOf bitter life, then falling mute and tired,Like leaves that the sharp hoar frost sheds and scars,Lie dead beneath the heaven they desired.