DESPONDENCY.

Not all the bravery that day puts on

Of gold and azure, ardent or austere,

Shall ease my soul of sorrow; grown more dear

Than all the joy that heavenly hope may don.

Far up the skies the rumor of the dawn

May run, and eve like some wild torch appear;

These shall not change the darkness, gathered here,

Of thought, that rusts like an old sword undrawn.

Oh, for a place deep-sunken from the sun!

A wildwood cave of primitive rocks and moss!

Where Sleep and Silence — breast to married breast —

Lie with their child, night-eyed Oblivion;

Where, freed from all the trouble of my cross,

I might forget, I might forget, and rest!