Poems (Blagden)/Defeated
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DEFEATED.
I.
O circling hills! O murmuring stream!
O moon! so fair and round and bright,
Rising as softly as a dream,
Born in the silence of the night.
O moon! so fair and round and bright,
Rising as softly as a dream,
Born in the silence of the night.
II.
What rapture in the glittering air!
What chords of joy in lyres divine!
What peace and gladness everywhere,
Save in this weary heart of mine!
What chords of joy in lyres divine!
What peace and gladness everywhere,
Save in this weary heart of mine!
III.
In every field the corn is cut,
And stands in goodly yellow sheaves:
And ripe the kernel in each nut,
And lined with seed the fern's green leaves.
And stands in goodly yellow sheaves:
And ripe the kernel in each nut,
And lined with seed the fern's green leaves.
IV.
But harvestless my barren land,
My hazel boughs are bare and sere;
No hand clasps yearningly my hand,
My empty life is chill and drear.
My hazel boughs are bare and sere;
No hand clasps yearningly my hand,
My empty life is chill and drear.
nil.
O my lost youth! could I reclaim
One fragment of its wasted powers,
Redeem the loss, rekindle flame
From ashes spent, from faded flowers,
One fragment of its wasted powers,
Redeem the loss, rekindle flame
From ashes spent, from faded flowers,
VI.
I would yet struggle, toil, and strive,
And raise my soaring hopes on high;
And if I failed to nobly live,
Thou, thou shouldst watch me bravely die.
And raise my soaring hopes on high;
And if I failed to nobly live,
Thou, thou shouldst watch me bravely die.
VII.
But all is vain; and vainer still
To seek to stay life's parting breath.
O heart, submit! surrender, will!
Who can resist the embrace of death?
To seek to stay life's parting breath.
O heart, submit! surrender, will!
Who can resist the embrace of death?
VIII.
This final sorrow is the worst;
For courage, youth, and pride are gone.
I cannot face grief as at first,
Defy its sting, and tread it down.
For courage, youth, and pride are gone.
I cannot face grief as at first,
Defy its sting, and tread it down.
IX.
Yet fight I must—I dare not yield;
The clarions blow, the lists are set;
This broken heart, the battle-field
Where love its leaguered foes has met.
The clarions blow, the lists are set;
This broken heart, the battle-field
Where love its leaguered foes has met.
X.
Defeat is sure; the treacherous past
Cripples my arm and pierces sore;
Ghost follows ghost, until the last
Looks with thine eyes, and all is o'er.
Cripples my arm and pierces sore;
Ghost follows ghost, until the last
Looks with thine eyes, and all is o'er.