The Literary Magnet/Series 1/Volume 2/Stanzas of Wail

by Pierce Shafton

STANZAS OF WAIL.

 

A summer without a summer sky,
But a dusky pall of clouds instead,
Hung over blossoms that childless die,
And under the vaulted branches lie,
Leaving no rosy progeny,
For ripe fruits weeping above their bed.

A festival wanting one festive cheek,
To smile in the light of a thousand lamps,
That now but quench the pale hectic streak,
Which oft, upon visages that speak
Of inward anguish, flitting and weak,
Burns like the night-breath of putrid swamps.

These are things full of grief and gloom,
But oh! they are bliss to the thoughts that rack
His heart, who hath fed, through a wintry doom,
On the hope that pleasure might once more bloom,
Might one day his eye with delight relume,
And has found nor flowers nor beams come back!

G. N.