Poems (Odom)/At Twilight
For works with similar titles, see At Twilight.
AT TWILIGHT.
The room is peopled with visions That fill me with sadness and pain,For I know that my past happy hours Can never come to me again.My eyes are aweary of weeping, My soul is prophetic of gloom,My being is filled with a sadness That whispers of death and the tomb.
For myself, I would care not to linger Where every thing breathes of despair;The grave has no bitterness for me, No sorrow could torture me there.How peacefully in its cold bosom Would slumber my grief-burdened head!—But what would become of my darling, My boy, if his mother were dead?
My beautiful boy, in his childhood Who never has known a harsh tone, Would miss the deep love that I bear him If left in this bleak world alone.For him I could still bear my burdens, For him would brave misery's sting,Would meet uncomplaining the future With all the deep grief it may bring.
My treasure—my golden-haired darling— The one beaming light in my sky—The one earthly joy that would make me Unwilling, regretful to die.Ah! yes, and there still is another Strong tie to this world and its strife,A faint little spirit depending On mine for its being and life.
My soul, with its motherhood fondness, Goes out with a yearning sublime,Enfolding with its passionate loving My babe on the threshold of time.I know I shall pass 'neath the shadow That leads to the portal of death;My life may go out in the hour That gives to my darling its breath.
The soft little fingers of velvet By their mother's may never be pressed,Nor the rosy lips ever be lifted For nourishment up to my breast.God knows, for it seems that a darkness Is gathering over my head;That the light has gone out from my spirit, Where shadows droop heavy instead;
That death and the grave lie before me With banner already unfurled,When soon I shall sink into slumber, To waken no more in this world.May God in His goodness sustain me, When through the dark valley I tread;O Mary! my mother! support me, Uphold on thy bosom my head.
In pity look down on my children, When lifeless their mother shall lie,Or lay them in mercy beside me, As cold and unbreathing as I.The world is so dark and so gloomy, So full of the grief I have known—O Father! I tremble to leave them To meet the bleak storm all alone.