44
MOON-STRUCK.
The lids on my tired eyeballs—crouch in dust,
And pray.
—Thank God, thank God!—a cloud has hid
My torturer. The night at last is free:
Forth peep in crowds the merry twinkling stars.
Ah, we 'll shine out, the little silly stars
And I; we 'll dance together across the moor,
They up aloft—I here. At last, at last
We are avengèd of our adversary!
And pray.
—Thank God, thank God!—a cloud has hid
My torturer. The night at last is free:
Forth peep in crowds the merry twinkling stars.
Ah, we 'll shine out, the little silly stars
And I; we 'll dance together across the moor,
They up aloft—I here. At last, at last
We are avengèd of our adversary!
The freshening of the night air feels like dawn.
Who said that I was mad? I will arise,
Throw off my burthen, march across the wold
Airily—Ha! what, stumbling? Nay, no fear—
I am used unto the dark, for many a year
Steering companionless athwart the waste
To where, deep hid in valleys of white mist,
The pleasant home-lights shine. I will but pause,
Turn round and gaze—
O me! O miserable me!
The cloud-bank overflows: sudden outpour
The bright white moon-rays—ah! I drown, I drown,
And o'er the flood, with steady motion, slow
It walketh—my inexorable Doom.
Who said that I was mad? I will arise,
Throw off my burthen, march across the wold
Airily—Ha! what, stumbling? Nay, no fear—
I am used unto the dark, for many a year
Steering companionless athwart the waste
To where, deep hid in valleys of white mist,
The pleasant home-lights shine. I will but pause,
Turn round and gaze—
O me! O miserable me!
The cloud-bank overflows: sudden outpour
The bright white moon-rays—ah! I drown, I drown,
And o'er the flood, with steady motion, slow
It walketh—my inexorable Doom.
No more: I shall not struggle any more:
I will lie down as quiet as a child,—
I can but die.
I will lie down as quiet as a child,—
I can but die.
