Poems (Chilton, 1885)/Epicedium
EPICEDIUM.
The fires of youth no longer burn,
Their fitful flames are quenched at last;
And here within this little urn
Repose the ashes of my past.
Their fitful flames are quenched at last;
And here within this little urn
Repose the ashes of my past.
And is this capet mortuum all
Now left me of my vanished years?
Am I no longer held in thrall
By youthful joys and hopes and fears?
Now left me of my vanished years?
Am I no longer held in thrall
By youthful joys and hopes and fears?
'Tis even so; the mountain-side
Is scaled at last; and now I rest,
While I survey from life's divide
My path that slopes towards the west:—
Is scaled at last; and now I rest,
While I survey from life's divide
My path that slopes towards the west:—
The sad and sober west, where glow
The embers of the dying day,
That, as the night winds cease to blow,
Fall into ashes cold and gray.
The embers of the dying day,
That, as the night winds cease to blow,
Fall into ashes cold and gray.
O let me falter not, but tread
Firmly the downward path, nor yearn
For my lost youth whose ashes dead
Fill up the measure of this urn.
Firmly the downward path, nor yearn
For my lost youth whose ashes dead
Fill up the measure of this urn.