Poems (Howard)/"The Melancholy Days"
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"The Melancholy Days."
Are these "the melancholy days"
That poets sometimes write about
So querulous, one scarce can doubt
That some uneasy qualm, or pout
Inspired their half-complaining lays?
That poets sometimes write about
So querulous, one scarce can doubt
That some uneasy qualm, or pout
Inspired their half-complaining lays?
Why, happy Time too swiftly flies
In joy-filled moments, such as these!
When Nature's aim seems but to please
By interweaving harmonies
That thrill our souls, and feast our eyes.
In joy-filled moments, such as these!
When Nature's aim seems but to please
By interweaving harmonies
That thrill our souls, and feast our eyes.
Who reads aright her open book,
Emblazoned, finds on every page
Some new delight for youth or age;
A paean, or a sermon sage
In rock, and tree, and flowing brook.
Emblazoned, finds on every page
Some new delight for youth or age;
A paean, or a sermon sage
In rock, and tree, and flowing brook.
Upon the hills a poem lies;
Nocturnes are whispered through the trees,
And caught by every passing breeze;
And, from the vale, sweet symphonies,
As by an angel chorus, rise.
Nocturnes are whispered through the trees,
And caught by every passing breeze;
And, from the vale, sweet symphonies,
As by an angel chorus, rise.
The year is dying, it is said—
Can Death be beautiful as this?
Without regret, it must be bliss
To give to earth the parting kiss
And thus approach one's dying bed.
Can Death be beautiful as this?
Without regret, it must be bliss
To give to earth the parting kiss
And thus approach one's dying bed.
O it were sweet to know that Death
Thus beautiful, robbed of its sting,
That makes it an unwelcome thing,
Could come to us! who then would cling
To Life, or grudge th' expiring breath?
Thus beautiful, robbed of its sting,
That makes it an unwelcome thing,
Could come to us! who then would cling
To Life, or grudge th' expiring breath?