Despondency

Not all the bravery that day puts on Of gold and azure, ardent or austere, Shall ease my soul of sorrow; grief, more dear Than all the joy that heavenly hope may don. Far up the skies the rumor of the dawn May run, and eve like some wild torch appear; These shall not change the darkness, gathered here, Of thought that rusts like an old sword undrawn. Oh, for a place far-sunken from the sun! A wildwood cave of primitive rocks and moss! Where Sleep and Silence--breast to married breast-- Lie with their child, night-eyed Oblivion; Where, freed from all the burden of my cross, I might forget, I might forget--and rest!