Liquid Peneus was flowing,
And all dark Temple lay
In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing
The light of the dying day,
Speeded by my sweet pipings.
Liquid Peneus was flowing,
And all dark Temple lay
In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing
The light of the dying day,
Speeded by my sweet pipings.
He lives, he wakes -'tis Death is dead, not he;
Mourn not for Adonais.
At last, I told them what is death.
I look on high;
Has some unknown omnipotence unfurled
The veil of life and death?
Death is the veil which those who live call life; They sleep, and it is lifted.
Mont Blanc yet gleams on high:-the power is there,
The still and solemn power of many sights,
And many sounds, and much of life and death.
O storm of death,
Whose sightless speed divides this sullen night!
Does the dark gate of death
Conduct to thy mysterious paradise,
O Sleep?
they know not--till the night of death,
As sunset that strange vision, severeth
Our memory from itself, and us from all
We sought and yet were baffled.
Thus solemnized and softened, death is mild
And terrorless as this serenest night.
Waking or asleep,
Thou of death must deem
Things more true and deep
Than we mortals dream,
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?
Ah, when shall day dawn on the night of the grave,
Or summer succeed to the winter of death?
It might make one in love with death, to be buried in so sweet a place.
Helen, whose spirit was of softer mould,
Whose sufferings too were less, death slowlier led
Into the peace of his dominion cold.
Red morning dawned upon his flight,
Shedding the mockery of its vital hues
Upon his cheek of death.
Death rose and smil'd, and met her vain caress.
Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death?
Great and mean
Meet massed in death, who lends what life must borrow.
I sang of the dancing stars,
I sang of the dedal earth,
And of heaven, and the Giant wars,
And love, and death, and birth.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories