Nay, own the truth, and say that we
Are but the bonded slaves of doom;
Unconscious to the cradle came,
Unwilling must go to the tomb.
Your woman's hands are void of help,
Though my soul should be stung to death;
Could I avert one pang from you,
Imploring with my latest breath?
And men!—we suffer any wrong
That men, or mad, or blind, may do;—
Let me alone in my despair!
There is no help for me or you.
I wait to find the meaning out
That lies beyond the bitter end;
Comfort yourself with 'wearying heaven,
I ask no comfort, oh my friend!
MOONLIGHT MEMORIES.
Do thy chamber windows open east,
Beloved, as did ours of old?
And do you stand when day has ceased,
Withdrawn thro' evening's porch of gold,
And watch the pink flush fade above
The hills on which the wan moon leans,
Remembering the sweet girlish love
That blest this hour in other scenes!
I see your hand upon your heart—
I see you dash away the tears—
It is the same undying smart,
That touched us in the long-gone years;
