O cherished dreams of Truth! O sacred bond

Unlovely grown! O faith so mutable!

Shades of my fathers, not august but fond!

How hollow were the darlings of my dream!

But she, O Lotus-flower, my promised bride,

Star of my youth, my pure unspotted dove!

Again I see her in her gentle pride,

Her starry eyes meet mine with melting beam;

Unsightly grief approach not near my Love,

Flee from her presence, O thou gaunt Despair,

Good Time, embalm her daintily and fair,

Link her sweet fame with hymns and fragrancy.

And happy stars, and blissful utterance,

And with all transports that immortal be.

Fold her, good Time, from my remembrance,

O, this is bitterest mortality,

That living heart of love should be the urn

Where lie the ashes of our joys that turn

To bitterness, and all our lives o'erflow

Till dearest love be grown a hateful woe;

My sun of youth has set, methinks it should

Have set with such a splendour as had all

My sober days with mellow light imbued;

O bitter sun of youth whose knavish pledge

Of high-born hope and holy privilege

But led me undefended to my fall,

O lamentable day when I was born!

What shapes are those that mock me with their scorn?

What trumpet-call is this within my breast?

I am grown wise, my senses are increased,

It is the breath of fiends that drowns my speech,

The bellowing of devils as they feast.

I am the taunt of devils, and they preach

Of death, of cursing, and of endless woe;

The lightnings of this devil-tempest show

Horrors not dreamed of * * * * * O thou Vengeful Power,

I am forspent, if merit there can be

In self accusing, in this darkest hour

O hear me, and I pray thee pity me,

For I have sinned, O fool, unwise and blind!

And I am Atma; whom thou hadst designed

For life of sanctity and holy quest.

Lord, I am Atma, and I have transgressed;

I sought the Present whom we may not seek,

The Future whom I slighted went before

And waited armed and my goods did take.

This is my sin that sent on high behest

I slept; Lord, as one waited at thy golden door

A hundred years, and snatched a little rest,

And waked to see the closing gateway drawn

And lived thereafter only in the dawn

Of that brief moment's light, so also I

Must dream of wasted radiance till I die."




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