DARK as the wintry midnight is my soul; sad and tempestuous. Fain would I sit upon the stern brow’d rock, listening to the roaring of the terrible cataract.
Fool! to endure life, wandering, as I do, in the solitary path, while gloomy shadows stalk in the dim mist, and point at me with melancholy gesture.
I come, I come, gloomy shadows!–I hasten to be disembodied.
Bitter shrieks the North wind over the mountains; the night-bird screams dismal o’er the dark green yew. Oh! let me be laid in the grave, and let the spirits of the air bend over my tomb!
I am unfit for the world; black misery pervades my brain; the desart of gloom suits my soul. The wild blast driving the heavy clouds over the mountains –the dreamy din of midnight chorus, oppressing the soul with deadly and mysterious sorrow, best befits me–the forgotten of Heaven!
Man is the monster from whose jaws I fly! whose poison’d arrow still festers in my heart, and defies the skill of the physician.
Spirit of death! bear me from the scene of my woe! all night will I watch for thee on the cold tomb-stone. Take pity, and receive me among ye–stretch forth from the slowly yawning tomb your slender arms, spirits of the quiet dead!
Oh! what have I done, that dreadful woe should haunt my footsteps? What have I done, that the phantom of despair should fly before me, shrieking and wringing her lurid hands?
Oh! let me die, that my sorrows may rest in tomb–that the voice of man may strike never more
upon my maddened brain, and that the innocent smile of ***** may never mock the bursting of my sad heart.
God of Heaven! I beseech thee for death; stop, in pity, stop the feverish beating of my heart–let not my own hand urge the life away. Yet never can the tempest of my mind be quell’d–the stormy ocean may be easier to appease! I feel in my soul that happiness can never more return. Sad and strange are my nights; my days are a dim mist. Smile on me, oh! God! and send thy pale angel, Death, to bear me away in his arms.
Bitter shrieks the North wind over the mountains; the night-bird screams dismal from the dark green yew. Oh! let me be laid in the grave, and let the spirits of the air bend over my tomb!
(Charlotte Dacre)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, God Poems, Life Poems, World Poems, Night Poems, Mind Poems, Sadness Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Soul Poems, Heaven Poems, Happiness PoemsBased on Keywords: night-bird, d-the, me-the, festers, disembodied, oppressing, tomb-stone, heart-let