THE swift mysterious seasons rise and set;
The omnipotent years pass o’er us, bright or dun;–
Dawns blush, and mid-days burn, ’till scarce aware
Of what deep meaning haunts our twilight air,
We pause bewildered, yearning for the sun;
Only to find in that strange evening-tide,
By the last sunset pathos sanctified,
Pale memory near us, and divine regret!
Then memory gently takes us by the hand;
And doubtful boundaries of a faded time,
Half veiled in mist and rime,
Emerge, grow bright, expand;
The past becomes the present to our eyes;
Poor slaves of dust and death,
(As if some trump of resurrection clear
Somewhere outpealed, our senses could not hear)
Rise, freed from churchyard taint and mortal stain;
Old friends! dear comrades! have we met again?
God! how these dismal years
Of anguished desolation, and veiled tears,
Of fettered feeling, and despondent sighs,
Wither and shrivel like a parchment scroll
Seized by the fury of consuming fire,
Before the rapture of the illumined soul,
Lifted and lightened by our love’s desire!
Old friends! dear comrades! have we met once more?
Come! let us fondly mark
In this weird truce, whose moments soon must flee,
‘Twixt the charmed heart and dread reality,
Those well-belov
(Paul Hamilton Hayne)
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Based on Topics: God Poems, Sadness Poems, Time Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Soul Poems, Sense & Perception Poems, Friendship Poems, Fire Poems, Past Poems, Desire Poems, Emotions PoemsBased on Keywords: well-belov, evening-tide