Poems (Angier)/Song of the Disenchanted
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SONG OF THE DISENCHANTED.
The dust hath been brushed
From the butterfly's wing,
The kite of my fancy
Hath broken its string;
For the soft siren voices
That greeted my ear,
The raven's hoarse croak
And the owl's hoot I hear.
From the butterfly's wing,
The kite of my fancy
Hath broken its string;
For the soft siren voices
That greeted my ear,
The raven's hoarse croak
And the owl's hoot I hear.
The halo hath faded,
The rose-tint is fled;
And the leaden-hued sky
Appeareth instead;
Where summer birds nestled,
And tuned their sweet song,
The canker-worm feeds
Hope's green leaves among.
The rose-tint is fled;
And the leaden-hued sky
Appeareth instead;
Where summer birds nestled,
And tuned their sweet song,
The canker-worm feeds
Hope's green leaves among.
A shadow is resting
On life's pleasant things,
The harp of romance
Hath parted its strings;
In camp and in court,
In cottage and hall,
The glory and gilding
Have faded from all.
On life's pleasant things,
The harp of romance
Hath parted its strings;
In camp and in court,
In cottage and hall,
The glory and gilding
Have faded from all.
Ensconced in the green-room,
I've witnessed the play;
Seen the drop rise and fall
In the broad light of day;
Kings, they are sceptreless,
Queens without crowns;
Grand lords and ladies
Are peasants and clowns.
I've witnessed the play;
Seen the drop rise and fall
In the broad light of day;
Kings, they are sceptreless,
Queens without crowns;
Grand lords and ladies
Are peasants and clowns.
The spell is dissolved,
The charm hath been broke;
The captive is free,
And spurneth the yoke;
When idols are clay,
And prove themselves dust,
How fruitless our worship,
How vain is our trust!
The charm hath been broke;
The captive is free,
And spurneth the yoke;
When idols are clay,
And prove themselves dust,
How fruitless our worship,
How vain is our trust!
This makes me not sad,
No; I'm happier far;
For always 'tis best
To see things as they are.
The dictate of wisdom
Is ever the same;
Each object to call
By its own proper name.
No; I'm happier far;
For always 'tis best
To see things as they are.
The dictate of wisdom
Is ever the same;
Each object to call
By its own proper name.
In truth's faithful mirror
Let error appear
In her hideous form,
And her own colors wear;
Then Virtue shall triumph,
Vice vanish away,
And earth will rejoice
In millennial day.
Let error appear
In her hideous form,
And her own colors wear;
Then Virtue shall triumph,
Vice vanish away,
And earth will rejoice
In millennial day.