Poems (Helen Jenkins)/Sadness
For works with similar titles, see Sadness.
SADNESS.
O'er my weary head a phantom
Folds her gloomy wings to-night;
Darkly o'er my tear-damp pillow
Falls her boding, spectral light.
Through the long, lone hours I've waited,
Waited vainly for her flight;
Still her vigil near she keepeth,
And her wild eye never sleepeth,
Still so strangely cold and bright;
Folds her gloomy wings to-night;
Darkly o'er my tear-damp pillow
Falls her boding, spectral light.
Through the long, lone hours I've waited,
Waited vainly for her flight;
Still her vigil near she keepeth,
And her wild eye never sleepeth,
Still so strangely cold and bright;
Till my sad o'er-burdened spirit
Uttereth an anguished cry,
"Is there none to aid, to save me
From this crushing agony?
Must this gloomy, ghostly phantom,
Ever o'er me brooding nigh,
Fill my weary heart with blackness,—
Starless and undawning darkness,—
Shadows that may never fly?"
Uttereth an anguished cry,
"Is there none to aid, to save me
From this crushing agony?
Must this gloomy, ghostly phantom,
Ever o'er me brooding nigh,
Fill my weary heart with blackness,—
Starless and undawning darkness,—
Shadows that may never fly?"
Yet no ear my wild cry heedeth,
All is blackness as before;
Till my tortured spirit shrieketh,
"Stay! for I can bear no more!
Do not let thy dreadful presence
Cast a deeper shadow o'er!"
Still the silence grows more weary,
Still the solemn night-time dreary
Shrouds my spirit evermore.
All is blackness as before;
Till my tortured spirit shrieketh,
"Stay! for I can bear no more!
Do not let thy dreadful presence
Cast a deeper shadow o'er!"
Still the silence grows more weary,
Still the solemn night-time dreary
Shrouds my spirit evermore.