Category: Poetry

Morning (2018)

When through my window the late morning light
Makes pale the passing memories of night
E’re conscience crawls above the aching strain
To give direction to my waking brain
My still half slumb’ring self revolts from day;
Seeking more rest, I cast all care away
For brutal punctuality; to wake
Seems nothing but a cold and cruel mistake.
Even on weekend morns I wake just so,
Lament, then turn my gaze, and better know:
The luck that daytime life to me has brought
Comes vividly into my waking thought
I see you in the pale late morning light
And day seems far superior to night.

On Sorrow and Content (2016)

When sadness softly veils my inner eye
And darkens things perceived with its own hue
Chilling my sense, as when the evening dew
Falls cold upon the grass, then I deny
My happy state, and dimly I descry
All that I once did wish, no longer true–
Love and renown; so darkening in hue
Sorrow, as darkling stalks the night; the sky
At last is black, but for the stars, they smile
Quite inaccessible as longing vain
And seem the author of my every woe:
Mistaken, I my better sense beguile
And blame mischance for mine own inner pain
Which suffering content alike must know.

At Sunset (2014)

When wanes the light of day, so wanes my cheer:
The flowers round my temples start to fade
And droop their heads. Then ore my soul a shade
Falls quietly, and not untouched by fear,
The ruddy sky doth half beguile me
Into the arms of death—there leaving all
The sorrow which this evening may befall
My melancholy self. How can it be
That sights so fair could overshade my mind?
I know not; but I ever wish to live
However sweetly death do smile and fawn.
The beauty of that scene doth well remind
Me of that joy which life and love can give;
So sleep I yet to wait the coming dawn.