Invocation to Misery

Shadow-vested Misery:

Coy, unwilling, silent bride,

Mourning in thy robe of pride,

Desolation—deified!

Sad as I may seem to thee,

I am happier far than thou,

Lady, whose imperial brow

Is endiademed with woe.

Like a sister and a brother

Living in the same lone home,

Many years—we must live some

Hours or ages yet to come.

Let us make the best of it;

If love can live when pleasure dies,

We two will love, till in our eyes

This heart's Hell seem Paradise.

On the fresh grass newly mown,

Where the Grasshopper doth sing

Merrily—one joyous thing

In a world of sorrowing!

And mine arm shall be thy pillow;

Sounds and odours, sorrowful

Because they once were sweet, shall lull

Us to slumber, deep and dull.

With a love thou darest not utter.

Thou art murmuring—thou art weeping—

Is thine icy bosom leaping

While my burning hearthes sleeping?

Round my neck thine arms enfold—

They are soft, but chill and dead;

And thy tears upon my head

Burn like points of frozen lead.

Underneath the grave 'tis spread:

In darkness may our love be hid,

Oblivion be our coverlid—

We may rest, and none forbid.

Like two shadows into one;

Till this dreadful transport may

Like a vapour fade away,

In the sleep that lasts alway.

That we are not those who weep;

E'en as Pleasure dreams of thee,

Life-deserting Misery,

Thou mayst dream of her with me.

At the shadows of the earth,

As dogs bay the moonlight clouds.

Which, like spectres wrapped in shrouds,

Pass o'er night in multitudes.

Show like multitudinous

Puppets passing from a scene;

What but mockery can they mean,

Where I am—where thou hast been?