Poems (Cary)/The Spirit-Haunted

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THE SPIRIT-HAUNTED.
O'er the dark woods, surging, solemn, Hung the new moon's silver ring;And in white and naked beauty, Out from Twilight's luminous wing,Peered the first star of the eve;—'T was the time when poets weaveRadiant songs of love's sweet passion, In the loom of thought sublime,And with throbbing, quick pulsations Beat the golden web of rhyme.
On a hillside very lonely With the willows' dewy flowShutting down like sombre curtains Round the silent beds below,Where the lip from love is bound.And the forehead napkin-crowned,—I beheld the spirit-haunted— Saw his wild eyes burn like fire,Saw his thin hands, clasped together, Crush the frail strings of his lyre,As, upon a dream of splendor His abraded soul was stretched, ​And across the heart's sad ruins Winged imaginations reachedToward the glory of the skies—Toward the love that never dies.
In a tower, shadow-laden, With a casement high and dim,Years agone there dwelt a maiden, Loving and beloved by him.But while singing sweet one dayA bold masker crossed her way.
Then—her bosom softly trembling Like a star in morning's light—Faithless to her mortal lover Fled she forth into the night.—A great feast for her was spreadIn the Kingdom overhead.
Woe, oh woe! for the abandoned; Dim his mortal steps must be;Death's high priest his soul has wedded Unto immortality!—Twilight's purple fall, or morn,Finds him, leaves him, weary, lorn.
In her cave lies Silence, hungry For the beauty of his song;Echoes, locked from mortal waking, Tremble as he goes along,And for love of him pale maidsLean like lilies from the shades.
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But the locks of love unwinding From his bosom as he may,Buries he his soul of sorrow In the cloud-dissolving dayOf the spirit-peopled shoreEver, ever, evermore.

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