IN MEMORIAM A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 3 - Jane Taylor Poems

 
 

Poems » jane taylor » in memoriam a. h. h. obiit mdcccxxxiii 3

IN MEMORIAM A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 3

O Sorrow, cruel fellowship,
      O Priestess in the vaults of Death,
      O sweet and bitter in a breath,
What whispers from thy lying lip?

"The stars," she whispers, "blindly run;
      A web is wov'n across the sky;
      From out waste places comes a cry,
And murmurs from the dying sun:

"And all the phantom, Nature, stands--
      With all the music in her tone,
      A hollow echo of my own,--
A hollow form with empty hands."

And shall I take a thing so blind,
      Embrace her as my natural good;
      Or crush her, like a vice of blood,
Upon the threshold of the mind?