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              After Despair  
              David William Paley
              
   
              Welcome, rest and soft repose! 
              Day has run its course and draws its veil. 
              The sighing trees in the evening breeze 
              Bring whispers of the night  
              And starlings wheel through gathering dusk 
              As nightingales begin their song. 
              Gentle breezes and balmy airs 
              Bring refreshment for the anxious soul  
              And infants sleep with scarce a murmur 
              Safe from preying eyes in blackest dark. 
              Odours of the musk of roses 
              Embrace the earth with sweet delight 
              And tinted clouds in glowing heavens 
              Announce a calm and bright tomorrow. 
              Day retreats behind the moon 
              And angels guard the world from storms 
              As I await the joyful beams 
              That streak the eastern sky.
              
  
              But branches tap upon the window 
              To beckon me to unknown lands 
              Where nought but crags and sombre forests lurk 
              Enticing me to dream eternal dreams 
              Where time has ceased to flow. 
              Bleak, black, brooding night, 
              That overwhelms our flickering flame, 
              Beguiles me with perpetual peace 
              Where I can slip from worldly cares 
              Without the prospect of return 
              And lie in restful contemplation 
              With no ungentle discourse more; 
              To descend unending steps into an abyss 
              Where souls reflect upon the world 
              Throughout the dateless ages yet to come 
              Nevermore to rise from the oblivion of sleep 
              With neither hope nor prospect that 
              If night now follows day 
              Will day then follow night?
              
   
              But no flight of swans will grace the azure skies 
              Nor snow peaked mountains sparkle 
              Above the distant meadows; 
              No sound of children's play 
              Nor sight of upturned lover's face; 
              No sound of steeple bells 
              With voices raised in their devotions. 
              Nought but taste of dust in a crumbling tomb 
              Pursued by demons whilst ravens fly. 
              Will sun be seen again, will light return? 
              Will there be dawn for me? 
              What judgements will be cast? 
              What assessments heaped upon my life? 
              Will there be roses on my grave 
              Or ivy grow around the yew?
              
  
              No! I shall not go easily before my term: 
              Time's scythe and Charon's oar must wait. 
              Let there be music and sweet harmony! 
              Let flowers bloom! 
              Let trumpets sound from the depths of oak woods 
              Whilst orchards blossom to honour and nurture spring! 
              Those shadows cast by imagined doom 
              Lack the power to overwhelm 
              With their so slender depth 
              So weak to brighter worlds. 
              For candles glow within the mind 
              And idle thoughts, so prone to winter's gloom, 
              Shall be dismissed by triumphs yet to come.
              
 
  
               
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