On your bare rocks, O barren moors, On your bare rocks I love to lie!— They stand like crags upon the shores, Or clouds upon a placid sky. Across those spaces desolate The fox pursues his lonely way, Those solitudes can fairly sate The passage of my loneliest day. Like desert islands far at sea Where not a ship can ever land, Those dim uncertainties to me For something veritable stand. A serious place distinct from all Which busy Life delights to feel,— I stand in this deserted hall, And thus the wounds of time conceal. No friend’s cold eye, or sad delay, Shall vex me now where not a sound Falls on the ear, and every day Is soft as silence most profound. No more upon these distant worlds The agitating world can come, A single Pensive thought upholds The arches of this dreamy home. Within the sky above, one thought Replies to you, O barren moors! Between, I stand, a creature taught To stand between two silent floors.
The Barren Moors
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On your bare rocks, O barren moors, On your bare rocks I love to lie!— They stand like crags upon the shores, Or clouds upon a placid sky. Across those spaces desolate The fox pursues his lonely way, Those solitudes can fairly sate The passage of my loneliest day. Like desert islands far at sea... |