Menken, Adah Isaacs
|DRIFTS THAT BAR MY DOOR.|
Life is a lie, and Love a cheat.
There is a graveyard in my poor heart--dark, heaped-up
graves, from which no flowers spring.
The walls are so high, that the trembling wings of birds
do break ere they reach the summit, and they fall,
wounded, and die in my bosom.
I wander 'mid the gray old tombs, and talk with the
ghosts of my buried hopes.
They tell me of my Eros, and how they fluttered around
him, bearing sweet messages of my love, until one day,
with his strong arm, he seek them dead at his feet.
Since then, these poor lonely ghosts have haunted me
night and day, for it was I who decked them in my
crimson heart-tides, and sent them forth in chariots of
Every breath of wind bears me their shrieks and
I hasten to their graves, and tear back folds and folds70of their shrouds, and try to pour into their cold, nerveless
veins the quickening tide of life once more.
Too late--too late!
Despair hath driven back Death, and clasps me in his
And the lamp! See, the lamp is dying out!
O angels! sweep the drifts from my door!--lift up the