HOW pleasing tot the beauty-loving eye
That long, low line where land and ocean meet :
The one as still and silent as the tomb,
The other with a gentle rise and fall,
And with a heavy, breathing sound— it seems
Like Sleep embracing her and sister Death,
Or like a terrified and panting mother
Stroking the temples of her swooning child,
And sighing as she sees her toil in vain.
In such a scene fond memories weave their spell,
And hopes grow high, and Fancy seeks and finds
The far horizon of her noblest dreams,
Till like the sea our thoughts stretch on to heaven,
* * * * *
Say not that the past is dead
Though the aurumn leaves are shed,
Though the day’s last flush has flown,
Though the lute has lost its tone—
Still wthin, unfelt, unseen,
Lives the life that once has been ;
With a silent power still
Guiding heart or brain or will,
Lending bias, force and hue
To the things we think and do.
Strange ! how aimless looks or words
Sometimes awake forgotten chords,
Bidding dreams and memories leap
From a long unbroken sleep.
William Edward Hartpole Leaky (1838-1903)
Uit Poems (1891)
Voor meer gedichten uit deze bundel kunt u terecht op de fin de siècle website All art is quite useless van Rond1900.nl. Verder kunt u op de site Tempel der Dichtkunst eveneens een bijdrage uit diezelfde verzameling lezen.