CONSOLATION.
141
CONSOLATION.
OW leave, O leave me! I have stayed to hearAll the vain comfortings your lips have said,—
Well meant, but yet they fall upon my ear
As yellow leaves might whirl about my head;—
Now leave me with my dead.
I would not be ungrateful, friends; but still
Your kind, condoling voices trouble me:
This aching need, which words can never fill,
Rejects your proffered comfort utterly,
As husks and vanity.
Your kind, condoling voices trouble me:
This aching need, which words can never fill,
Rejects your proffered comfort utterly,
As husks and vanity.
They are unwise physicians who would bind
A bleeding wound, and pour in wine and oil,
While yet the arrow-head remains behind;—
This stab, whence yet the ruddy life-drops boil,
Mocks your unskilful toil.
A bleeding wound, and pour in wine and oil,
While yet the arrow-head remains behind;—
This stab, whence yet the ruddy life-drops boil,
Mocks your unskilful toil.
