O Poesy is on the wane
For Fancy's visions all unfitting
I hardly know her face again
Nature herself seems on the flitting
The fields grow old and common things
The gra**, the sky, the winds a-blowing
And spots, where still a beauty clings
Are sighing "going! all a-going!"
O Poesy is on the wane
I hardly know her face again
The bank with brambles overspread
And little molehills round about it
Was more to me than laurel shades
With paths of gravel finely clouted
And streaking here and streaking there
Through shaven gra** and many a border
With rutty lanes had no compare
And heaths were in a richer order
But Poesy is on the wane
I hardly know her face again
I sat beside the pasture stream
When Beauty's self was sitting by
The fields did more than Eden seem
Nor could I tell the reason why
I often drank when not adry
To pledge her health in draughts divine
Smiles made it nectar from the sky
Love turned een water into wine
O Poesy is on the wane
I cannot find her face again
The sun those mornings used to find
Its clouds were other-country mountains
And heaven looked downward on the mind
Like groves, and rocks, and mottled fountains
Those heavens are gone, the mountains grey
Turned mist--the sun, a homeless ranger
Pursues alone his naked way
Unnoticed like a very stranger
O Poesy is on the wane
Nor love nor joy is mine again
Love's sun went down without a frown
For very joy it used to grieve us
I often think the West is gone
Ah, cruel Time, to undeceive us
The stream it is a common stream
Where we on Sundays used to ramble
The sky hangs oer a broken dream
The bramble's dwindled to a bramble!
O Poesy is on the wane
I cannot find her haunts again
Mere withered stalks and fading trees
And pastures spread with hills and rushes
Are all my fading vision sees
Gone, gone are rapture's flooding gushes!
When mushrooms they were fairy bowers
Their marble pillars overswelling
And Danger paused to pluck the flowers
That in their swarthy rings were dwelling
Yes, Poesy is on the wane
Nor joy nor fear is mine again
Aye, Poesy hath pa**ed away
And Fancy's visions undeceive us
The night hath ta'en the place of day
And why should pa**ing shadows grieve us?
I thought the flowers upon the hills
Were flowers from Adam's open gardens
But I have had my summer thrills
And I have had my heart's rewardings
So Poesy is on the wane
I hardly know her face again
And Friendship it hath burned away
Like to a very ember cooling
A make-believe on April day
That sent the simple heart a-fooling
Mere jesting in an earnest way
Deceiving on and still deceiving
And Hope is but a fancy-play
And Joy the art of true believing
For Poesy is on the wane
O could I feel her faith again!