1818. Thus, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Of other days around me. When I remember all The friends, so linked together, Like leaves in wintry weather; Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Thus, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Of other days around me. 14 28 Thomas Moore. TEARS, IDLE TEARS TEARS, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, 5 Mother, I Cannot Mind my Wheel Sad as the last which reddens over one Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes ΙΟ The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. Dear as remember'd kisses after death, Lord Tennyson. 15 20 MOTHER, I CANNOT MIND MY WHEEL 1846. MOTHER, I cannot mind my wheel; Walter Savage Landor. 66 WHEN THE LAMP IS SHAT TERED" WHEN the lamp is shattered Sweet tones are remembered not; As music and splendour No song when the spirit is mute :- Like the wind through a ruined cell, Or the mournful surges That ring the dead seaman's knell. When hearts have once mingled To endure what is once possessed. O Love! who bewailest 8 16 I Complete my Thirty-Sixth Year The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your Its passions will rock thee As the storms rock the ravens on high: Bright reason will mock thee, Like the sun from a wintry sky. Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come. 24 32 Percy Bysshe Shelley. ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR 'T is time this heart should be unmoved, My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; Are mine alone! 4 8 The fire that on my bosom preys Is lone as some volcanic isle; No torch is kindled at its blazeA funeral pile. The hope, the fear, the jealous care, But 't is not thus-and 't is not here- nor now, Where glory decks the hero's bier, The sword, the banner, and the field, 12 16 20 24 Awake! (not Greece-she is awake!) Tread those reviving passions down, 28 |