SONGS OF LA MOUCHE
Envoy.
At length beside the stagnant quay,
Like some tall ship to harbour brought,
The sport of a tempestuous sea,
I wait my end; nor care I aught
Whate 'er it be.
Like some tall ship to harbour brought,
The sport of a tempestuous sea,
I wait my end; nor care I aught
Whate 'er it be.
For Time his mouldering havoc plays,
And Duty stiffens roving wings,
The sluggish peace of measured days,
Like sodden weed about me clings.
And Duty stiffens roving wings,
The sluggish peace of measured days,
Like sodden weed about me clings.
But when the dying year grows cold,
Old wounds reopen; once again
I face the stormy days of old,
When persecution, sorrow and pain
Were lined with gold.
Old wounds reopen; once again
I face the stormy days of old,
When persecution, sorrow and pain
Were lined with gold.
Steering a half-remembered course,
My vagrant fancy tacks and veers,
Swung by an unknown current's force,
Deflected by forgotten fears.
My vagrant fancy tacks and veers,
Swung by an unknown current's force,
Deflected by forgotten fears.
And drifting on, I find no clue
To my strange life's disordered plan;
Were storms so fierce? was heaven so blue?
Now all is grey, I wonder can
My tale be true?
To my strange life's disordered plan;
Were storms so fierce? was heaven so blue?
Now all is grey, I wonder can
My tale be true?
Rouen, 1885.
54
