Poems (Jordan)/Beside the Grate
BESIDE THE GRATE
The fire was out—or so I vaguely thought,
As dreamily I stirred the ashes, gray,
While lost in meditation of the day,
And all the varied blessings it had brought.
But, as I thoughtlessly still turned my hand,
Its motion into life the embers fanned,
And suddenly a gleaming little spark—
Followed by many more—I leaped up to sight;
Until the former, all-encircling dark,
Seemed set with flashing rubies, bleeding light;—
Or's though the eyes of the long-buried Past—
All socketted in mem'ries, dusty-dim—
With murdr'ous glint were on the Present, cast,
Threat'ning relentlessly, some vengeance grim;
And charred fingers,—fleshless at ev'ry joint,—
Into the Future (screened by shrunken hours
Alone, so near it seemed!) reached forth to point
Where piled, were all the thorns of Hope's fresh flow'rs!
I thought me, ah, this a strong temptation is
To lure my thought from present,—future, bliss!
Yet could not readily the dread dismiss.
As dreamily I stirred the ashes, gray,
While lost in meditation of the day,
And all the varied blessings it had brought.
But, as I thoughtlessly still turned my hand,
Its motion into life the embers fanned,
And suddenly a gleaming little spark—
Followed by many more—I leaped up to sight;
Until the former, all-encircling dark,
Seemed set with flashing rubies, bleeding light;—
Or's though the eyes of the long-buried Past—
All socketted in mem'ries, dusty-dim—
With murdr'ous glint were on the Present, cast,
Threat'ning relentlessly, some vengeance grim;
And charred fingers,—fleshless at ev'ry joint,—
Into the Future (screened by shrunken hours
Alone, so near it seemed!) reached forth to point
Where piled, were all the thorns of Hope's fresh flow'rs!
I thought me, ah, this a strong temptation is
To lure my thought from present,—future, bliss!
Yet could not readily the dread dismiss.
********
I shuddered. Was't the coldness of the room,
Or some strange chill which only touched my heart?
Did the raked ashes prophecy a doom
To which my hand would give the guiding start?
Was I a victim, tirelessly pursued
By hidden hate; by eyes Death-spectacled?
Or some strange chill which only touched my heart?
Did the raked ashes prophecy a doom
To which my hand would give the guiding start?
Was I a victim, tirelessly pursued
By hidden hate; by eyes Death-spectacled?
********
I never knew how long I sat to brood;—
The starry sparks of Night, and those the ashes held
Were, with my strangely melancholy mood,
By Dawn's pale pinion,—raised o'er all—dispelled.
The starry sparks of Night, and those the ashes held
Were, with my strangely melancholy mood,
By Dawn's pale pinion,—raised o'er all—dispelled.