Page:Poems Hazlett-Bevis.djvu/76

Sometimes.

Sometimes, when all about is still,
 And calmly wafts the evening air,
The pent-up feelings, and the will,
 Both prostrate lie in deep despair.
  Sometimes.

Sometimes, in spite of reins well held,
 Whose white-hand power is self-control,
With lips compressed, and bosom swelled
 With heart-ache hunger of the soul.
  Sometimes.

We cannot pray, we only moan,
 And lie in misery so abject—
With hands clasped tensely, cold as stone,
 And tears dried hotly—none suspect.
  Sometimes.

We long for death, a sudden hush
 To fall upon us as we sit;
Oblivion, without noise or crush,
 And thus the end, while shadows flit.
  Sometimes.

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