To love, and to love hopelessly,
It is a bitter lot!
Not the idle I love that parts
Light as it comes, from fireless hearts,
Felt, and remembered not!
But love so deep, that it must be
An agony or ecstacy!
Not the poor, cold-feeling, child
To sickly, sentiment,
Whose fitful course is swiftly run,-
But flame as wild
As comet sent
Athwart a burning firmament;
Yet lasting as a sun.
And could I fly away! away!
O’er land and main in search of rest,
WERE I MORE BLEST?
For day by day
I am constrained that form of Heaven to see;
Hear the soft sigh
Breathed low; but not for me!
Ah ! and how could it be?
* * * * * * *
This-this is agony!
Yet could I fly away! away!
Far as the bounds of night and day;
Where mortal eye doth cease to see
Still would thine image present be;
Present-surpassing as thou art,-
As tho’ I’d eyes within my heart!
To which earth’s barriers are unknown,
Born to gaze on thee,-and gaze on thee alone !
What torture like to this hath man e’er given
A dying martyr-but who hopes no Heaven!
No solace for my heart-no guerdon for my pain;
But ever doomed to love!-and ever thus in vain!
(Ernest Jones)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Night Poems, Sadness Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Heaven Poems, Pain Poems, Art Poems, Running Poems, Present Poems, Idleness PoemsBased on Keywords: ecstacy, fireless, comet, thee-and, heart-no, this-this