Littell's Living Age/Volume 138/Issue 1787/Two Moods

by Edgar Fawcett

TWO MOODS.

I.

HATE.

Drawn o'er the airy sapphire of the day
⁠In vague perpetual way,
He sees one dulling film of dreary gray.
The fragrant sward, or dewy leaves that shine,
⁠Flower, bird, or lissom vine,
All hold weird hints of something saturnine!
Big weights of wrong and insult, always pressed
⁠Upon his tired-out breast,
Imperiously distract him with unrest!
And through his mind quick ghastly fancies float,
⁠Where sometimes he can note
His enemy's loathsome shape, and clutch its throat!

II.

LOVE.

For him alone the exultant thrushes call,
⁠The grand suns rise and fall,
And the sweet winds blow benedictional!
A sovereign sense his being seems to brim,
⁠Thrilling heart, brain, and limb,
That all this radiant world was wrought for him!
One blissful faith his life divinely cheers
⁠With heavenly joys and fears,
That sometimes leave his sight in holy tears!
And through his soul, rich-warmed by sacred heat,
⁠Dear memories move and meet,
Like shadowy ripples over golden wheat.

Belgravia.Edgar Fawcett.