22
THE WILL OF THE MAD POET
The twilight, and the glamour of the dusk,
And odours of white jessamine, and musk.
The sudden sobbing of the Night's sweet breath
When slowly sinking in the arms of Death.
And odours of white jessamine, and musk.
The sudden sobbing of the Night's sweet breath
When slowly sinking in the arms of Death.
To young men, all the dreams that come by day
Of Fame; and laurels plucked from out the fray
To lay before the feet of some unknown,
Some wondrous Fair that Fate would make his own.
And then to breast the world with valiant soul,
And courage high until he reach his goal.
Of Fame; and laurels plucked from out the fray
To lay before the feet of some unknown,
Some wondrous Fair that Fate would make his own.
And then to breast the world with valiant soul,
And courage high until he reach his goal.
To Mothers sweetest cooings in the nest
Her white arms make, close to her fragrant breast,
To see her babe, now satisfied a while,
Ope milk-wet lips, and give back smile for smile.
Her white arms make, close to her fragrant breast,
To see her babe, now satisfied a while,
Ope milk-wet lips, and give back smile for smile.
And to the Aged shall fair memories come,
And those of pain and sorrow shall be dumb,
And only love, and honour, hosts of friends,
To cheer them blithely to their nearing ends.
And those of pain and sorrow shall be dumb,
And only love, and honour, hosts of friends,
To cheer them blithely to their nearing ends.
And for myself, in Hearts to live again
From which in life I banishèd all pain.
From which in life I banishèd all pain.
