MOON-STRUCK.
45
There, I have hid my face:
Stray travellers passing o'er the silent wold
Would only say, "She sleeps."
Glare on, my Doom;
I will not look at thee: and if at times
I shiver, still I neither weep nor moan:
Angels may see, I neither weep nor moan.
Stray travellers passing o'er the silent wold
Would only say, "She sleeps."
Glare on, my Doom;
I will not look at thee: and if at times
I shiver, still I neither weep nor moan:
Angels may see, I neither weep nor moan.
Was that sharp whistling wind the morning breeze
That calls the stars back to the obscure of heaven?
I am very cold.—And yet there is a change.
Less fiercely the sharp moonbeams smite my brain,
My heart beats slower, duller: soothing rest
Like a soft garment binds my shuddering limbs.—
If I looked up now, should I see it still
Gibbeted ghastly in the hopeless sky?—
No!
It is very strange: all things seem strange:
Pale spectral face, I do not fear thee now:
Was 't this mere shadow which did haunt me once
Like an avenging fiend?—Well, we fade out
Together: I 'll nor dread nor curse thee more.
That calls the stars back to the obscure of heaven?
I am very cold.—And yet there is a change.
Less fiercely the sharp moonbeams smite my brain,
My heart beats slower, duller: soothing rest
Like a soft garment binds my shuddering limbs.—
If I looked up now, should I see it still
Gibbeted ghastly in the hopeless sky?—
No!
It is very strange: all things seem strange:
Pale spectral face, I do not fear thee now:
Was 't this mere shadow which did haunt me once
Like an avenging fiend?—Well, we fade out
Together: I 'll nor dread nor curse thee more.
How calm the earth seems! and I know the moor
Glistens with dew-stars. I will try and turn
My poor face eastward. Close not, eyes! That light
Fringing the far hills, all so fair—so fair,
Is it not dawn? I am dying,but 'tis dawn.
Glistens with dew-stars. I will try and turn
My poor face eastward. Close not, eyes! That light
Fringing the far hills, all so fair—so fair,
Is it not dawn? I am dying,but 'tis dawn.
