MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

By Charles Sangster


 

DESPONDENCY.



     There is a sadness o’er my spirit stealing,
     A flash of fire up-darting to my brain,
     Sowing the seeds—and still the seeds concealing—
     That are to ripen into future pain.
     I feel the germs of madness in me springing,

5

     Slowly, and certain, as the serpent’s bound,
     And my poor hopes, like dying tendril clinging
     To the green oak, tend surely to the ground;
     And Reason’s grasp grows feebler day by day,
     As the slow poison up my nerves is creeping,

10

     Ever and anon through my crushed heart leaping,
     Like a swift panther darting on its prey;
     And the bright taper Hope once fed within,
Hath waned and perished in the rueful din. [Page 94]