POSTHUMOUS POEMS
X
For yet the dawn is lingering white and far,
And dim its guiding star;
There is a sorrow in the speechless air,
And in the sunlight a dull painful glare;
The winds, that fold around
That soft enchanted ground
Their wings of music, sadden into song;
The holy stars await
Some dawn of glimmering fate
In silence—but the time of pain seems long,
But here no comfort stills
This sorrow that o'erclouds the purple hills.
For yet the dawn is lingering white and far,
And dim its guiding star;
There is a sorrow in the speechless air,
And in the sunlight a dull painful glare;
The winds, that fold around
That soft enchanted ground
Their wings of music, sadden into song;
The holy stars await
Some dawn of glimmering fate
In silence—but the time of pain seems long,
But here no comfort stills
This sorrow that o'erclouds the purple hills.
XI
The sun is bright, and fair the foamless sea;
The winds are loud with light and liberty:
But when shall these be free?
These hearts that beat thro' stifled pain, these eyes
Strained thro' dim prison-air toward the free skies:
When shall their light arise?
The sun is bright, and fair the foamless sea;
The winds are loud with light and liberty:
But when shall these be free?
These hearts that beat thro' stifled pain, these eyes
Strained thro' dim prison-air toward the free skies:
When shall their light arise?
XII
Thou! whose best name on earth
Is Love—whose fairest birth
Thou! whose best name on earth
Is Love—whose fairest birth
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