Finished reading Isaiah.
So much hope amidst so much sorrow;
so much light amidst so much darkness.
Hezekiah like I turn to the wall
to find myself facing the same gaping void.
I strain to hear the rhythm of life's lyre
but only silence
I strain to hear the song.
but only silence
The exquisite delicacy that is Isaiah
"epochs of intense tranquillity"
culminate in a prophet sawn in two
and a suffering servant whose generation
is speechless
I strain to hear the song
but only silence
Presently heard is Poe's voice, raven like
Isaiah's epitaph, and mine too:
Thou wast all that to me, love,
For which my soul did pine-
A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain and a shrine,
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the flowers were mine.
Ah, dream too bright to last!
Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise
But to be overcast!
A voice from out the Future cries,
"On! on!"- but o'er the Past
(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies
Mute, motionless, aghast!
For, alas! alas! me
The light of Life is o'er!
"No more- no more- no more-"
(Such language holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree
Or the stricken eagle soar!
And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy dark eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams-
In what ethereal dances,
By what eternal streams.
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