Classic Poem

When will this pang wave cease from welling
Up to my throat from an aching heart?
When will the dead past cease from telling
Old tales compelling the tears to start?

When will my fancy cease from making
Songs never fitted to earthly tune,
Themes never dreamt of in sleep or waking,
Dree notes to chord with the joy bells croon?

When will I ever cease from hearing
Whispers that waste as they pass me by —
Weird thought-waves from the lost lands veering —
Echoes that wake when the last hopes die?

Why do I see in a world unseeing,
Visioned thin in the glare of day,
Pleasureward ever, pale death's-head fleeing,
Fainter than shadows of wood smoke grey?

Hov'ring near when the sun starts climbing,
Keeping me close in the twilight grey;
Step for step to my footsteps timing,
Clouding my life with its shade alway.