CONSOLATION.
141
CONSOLATION.
OW leave, O leave me! I have stayed to hear
All the vain comfortings your lips have said,—
Well meant, but yet they fall upon my ear
As yellow leaves might whirl about my head;—
Now leave me with my dead.
All the vain comfortings your lips have said,—
Well meant, but yet they fall upon my ear
As yellow leaves might whirl about my head;—
Now leave me with my dead.
I would not be ungrateful, friends; but still
Your kind, condoling voices trouble me:
This aching need, which words can never fill,
Rejects your proffered comfort utterly,
As husks and vanity.
Your kind, condoling voices trouble me:
This aching need, which words can never fill,
Rejects your proffered comfort utterly,
As husks and vanity.
They are unwise physicians who would bind
A bleeding wound, and pour in wine and oil,
While yet the arrow-head remains behind;—
This stab, whence yet the ruddy life-drops boil,
Mocks your unskilful toil.
A bleeding wound, and pour in wine and oil,
While yet the arrow-head remains behind;—
This stab, whence yet the ruddy life-drops boil,
Mocks your unskilful toil.