|Member Since:||Dec 23, 2012|
|Education:||yes & no|
I have no time to dote or dream:
You call it hope-that fire of fire!
It is but agony of desire:
If I can hope-Oh God! I can-
Its fount is holier-more divine-
I would not call thee fool, old man,
But such is not a gift of thine.
Know thou the secret of a spirit
Bow'd from its wild pride into shame.
O yearning heart! I did inherit
Thy withering portion with the fame,
The searing glory which hath shone
Amid the jewels of my throne,
Halo of Hell! and with a pain
Not Hell shall make me fear again-
O craving heart, for the lost flowers
And sunshine of my summer hours!
The undying voice of that dead time,
With its interminable chime,
Rings, in the spirit of a spell,
Upon thy emptiness-a knell.