Hast thou left a token of thy presence here Perhaps the perfume of an evening flower Or in these rooms once beautiful now drear A last imprint of love in that dark hour
Of pain when one could hear the walls cry out In agony as the dreaded Shade drew near. As an automaton I move about Alone in the weeping gardens of yesteryear.
The baleful moan of the mourning dove Plays counterpoint to the warbler's trill Summer's heat upon us and the rough Cacophony of crows; high and shrill
The red hawks circle screeching out their cry And the fledglings by their mothers led. As thunder-heads, majestic, fill the sky, A downpour earth and heaven seems to wed.
I live apprentice of the night and day, Alone in music, more alone in thought, Laughter silenced, work and know not play, Cognizant of brutal battles fought,
Defeats and minor victories of will On the dim and hazy margins of the world. Of emptiness I have had my fill And forgetting of the soul that called.
No major leap above ourselves we can, Sloughing off the heart's despondencies The cherished obscurations we as man Hold dear and close, the mental fantasies,
The body's rigidness and lethargy And goals once prized that have no meaning now. To move the mind from false sagacity, To requisition calm and bear the blow,
God who dwells unknown within the heart To lift the opaque veil of ignorance Fashioned cleverly by ego's art. To kneel before Him, faith and innocence
Regained and trust reborn by gratitude Foundation stone of a new life to be, Peace replace this violent interlude, In the body's cave unearth divinity.
Poems Undated (1727)
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