Poetry

Untitled

Afflicted thoughts are mine all though the night
seen in my eyes, seen in my out-peering soul,
What more is time’s to take, or shall I fight?
Shall I strive to claim what time makes so dull?
Fame not mine, fortune far beyond my grasp,
hours gone in pursuit of these rewards?
Shall I reach the end, only then to gasp,
“How little I have earned, just death’s regards,
That now I, impotent beyond saving,
can only mouth regret with feebler tongue.”
Reduced then to death bed regret’s raving,
fortune’s hand withdrawn, my song has been sung.
Jealous time shall never repent her theft,
stealing hours till hopeless we meet our death.


The Stolen Child Returns

I have left the leafy island,
and all the fey folk there,
I have ventured off the highland,
where all is cold and bare,
forsaking all the dreams
of softly bubbling streams
and cheerful faery song
that echoes all night long:
Come away, o stolen child,
to the waters and the wild,
with a faery, hand-in-hand,
for the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with them I’d wander,
I, the solemn-eyed,
of faery folk grown fonder
than my home on the warm hillside.
We’d chase the silver beams
that shimmer on the lake,
gambol round the shimmering streams,
and there our slumber take:
I have come, the stolen child,
to the waters and the wild,
with a faery hand-in-hand,
for the world’s more full of weeping than I can understand.

Now I hear the world a-weeping,
it haunts me all the night,
that even in its sleeping
turns visions into fright.
I can feel the labored sighing
of the lover sore bereaved,
I have seen mankind belying
a God they once believed.
The parent mourns for losses
of children gone too soon,
they kneel before the crosses
and linger ‘neath the moon,
bitter are their fears,
and bitterer their tears.
Come away, o stolen child,
to the waters and the wild,
with a faery, hand-in-hand,
for the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Though I am no more a child,
I hear that luring song,
calling out from in the wild
where once I did belong.
Now I’m filled with worldly cares,
and the bitterness they share,
so I listen to the wind
and follow ‘long the streams,
hoping still to find
my long-lost land of dreams:
Come away, o stolen child,
to the waters and the wild,
with a faery, hand-in-hand,
for the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

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