Poems (Argent)/Unrest
For works with similar titles, see Unrest.
UNREST.
"Music that gentlier on the spirit liesThan tir'd eyelids on tir'd eyes."—Tennyson.
SING me a song to-night, Unearthly, calm and bright,With nothing sad to mar its upward strain. Open the casement wide, Let in the warm sun tide,The gentle murmur of the slumb'rous main.
Touch with your fingers fair Some dim and tranquil air,That like a spirit seems to float around, Carrying upon its wings A thought of better things,Dreams that are like the angels, golden crowned.
Majestic, full and long, Must be to-night your song,If you would soothe my heart's unquiet rest. A breathing all divine At some old master's shrine,To linger lovingly within my breast.
Sing me to realms away, Where sunlight crowns the day,And prints a kiss upon the mountain's height! Waft me where Alpine snows Glitter 'mid roseate glows,To leave a radiance ever pure and bright!
Take me where valleys green Bask in a silver sheen,And morning wakes in bud and blossom gay, Where knots of happy flowers Perfume the fleeting hours,To sleep with folded heads at close of day.
Then on where billows roar, And dash along the shore,In foaming curdles and in thund'rous might, Where ocean weeps and raves, In rough and rolling waves,That fill one with a vague and fierce delight.
O music, thine the power To quell a restless hour,Oh! what upon this earth so wond'rous sweet Greatest of things that be, To last eternally,I bow me down before thy charméd feet.
No human heart can be Untouched, methinks, by thee,For, like some holy white-winged angel guest, To-night thy spirit fair Hath robbed me of all care,And smoothed away a sick soul's wide unrest!