When his glad mother on him stole And snatched him to her breast!
GONE, gone from us! and shall we see O, thoughts were brooding in those eyes,
Those sibyl-leaves of destiny,
Those calm eyes, nevermore?
That would have soared like strong
Those deep, dark eyes so warm and Far, far into the skies,
Gladding the earth with song, And gushing harmonies,
Had he but tarried with us long! O stern word - Nevermore!
And she would read them o'er and o'er, Her heart no more will beat
Pondering, as she sate, Over their dear astrology, Which she had conned and conned before, Deeming she needs must read aright What was writ so passing bright. And yet, alas! she knew not why, Her voice would falter in its song,
And tears would slide from out her eye, Silent, as they were doing wrong. O stern word Nevermore!
To feel the touch of that soft palm, That ever seemed a new surprise Sending glad thoughts up to her eyes To bless him with their holy calm, Sweet thoughts! they made her eyes as
How quiet are the hands
That wove those pleasant bands! But that they do not rise and sink With his calm breathing, I should think That he were dropped asleep.
The tongue that scarce had learned to Alas! too deep, too deep
An entrance to a mother's heart
By that dear talisman, a mother's name, Sleeps all forgetful of its art! I loved to see the infant soul (How mighty in the weakness Of its untutored meekness !) Peep timidly from out its nest, His lips, the while,
Fluttering with half-fledged words, Or hushing to a smile
That more than words expressed,
Is this his slumber! Time scarce can number
The years ere he will wake again. O, may we see his eyelids open then! O stern word - Nevermore!
As the airy gossamere, Floating in the sunlight clear, Where'er it toucheth clingeth tightly, Round glossy leaf or stump unsightly, So from his spirit wandered out Tendrils spreading all about,
"To the shore Follow! O, follow! To be at rest forevermore! Forevermore!"
Look how the gray old Ocean From the depth of his heart rejoices, Heaving with a gentle motion, When he hears our restful voices; List how he sings in an undertone, Chiming with our melody;
And all sweet sounds of earth and air Melt into one low voice alone, That murmurs over the weary sea, And seems to sing from everywhere, Here mayst thou harbor peacefully, Here mayst thou rest from the aching
Turn thy curved prow ashore, And in our green isle rest forevermore ! Forevermore!"
And Echo half wakes in the wooded hill, And, to her heart so calm and deep, Murmurs over in her sleep,
Doubtfully pausing and murmuring still, "Evermore!
Thus, on Life's weary sea, Heareth the marinere Voices sweet, from far and near, Ever singing low and clear, Ever singing longingly.
Is it not better here to be, Than to be toiling late and soon? In the dreary night to see Nothing but the blood-red moon Go up and down into the sea; Or, in the loneliness of day,
To see the still seals only Solemnly lift their faces gray,
Making it yet more lonely? Is it not better than to hear Only the sliding of the wave Beneath the plank, and feel so near A cold and lonely grave,
A restless grave, where thou shalt lie Even in death unquietly?
Look down beneath thy wave-worn baik, Lean over the side and see
The leaden eye of the sidelong shark Upturned patiently,
Ever waiting there for thee: Look down and see those shapeless forms, Which ever keep their dreamless sleep Far down within the gloomy deep, And only stir themselves in storms, Rising like islands from beneath,
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