In silent moonless night when rest I took,
For unhappiness near I did not look,
I was waken'd with so thund'ring noise
And piteous shrieks of outrageous voice.
That uneasily scared sound of 'fire' and 'fire,'
Let no man know is my Desire.
I starting up, the light did deadly spy,
And to my Almighty God my heart did awfully cry.
To straighten me in my uneasiness,
And just not to ever vacate me succourless.
Then coming out, behold a space
The igniting flame consume my dwelling place.
And when I could no longer look,
I blest his true grace that gave and took,
That laid my goods now in the duff dust.
Yea, so it was, and so 'twas just.
It was only his own; it was not truly mine.
Far be it that I should barely repine,
He might of all justly bereft
But yet adequate for us left.
When by the wreckages oft I past
My sorrowing murky eyes aside did cast
And here and there the places spy
Where oft I sate and long did just lie.
Here leant that Trunk, and there that chest,
There lay that store I counted the best,
My neat and fair-spoken things in ashes lie
And them behold no more shall I.
Under the tucked roof no guest shall sit,
Nor at thy Table eat a bit.
No courteous talks shall 'ere be told
Nor things recounted done of old.
No Candle 'ere shall shine brightly in Thee,
Nor bridegroom's voice ere heard shall bee.
In complete silence ever shalt thou lie.
Adieu, Adieu, All's Just Vanity.
Then straight I 'gin my heart to chide:
And did thy prosperity on earth abide,
Didst fasten thy hope on mouldering dust,
The arm of flesh didst make thy trust?
Lift up thy thoughts quite above the sky
That dunghill mists away may fly.
Thou hast a house on high erect
Fram'd by that mighty Architect,
With high glory richly furnished
Stands perpetual , though this be fled.
It's purchased and paid for too
By him who hath enough to do.
A price so vast as is unknown,
Yet by his gift is made thine own.
There's wealth enough; I need no more.
Farewell, my wretched pelf; farewell, my store.
The world no longer let me love;
My hope and treasured happiness lies above.
©SimranJolly_
YOU ARE READING
The Bleeding Rose
PoesíaThis book is generally based on a girl who had endured a lot of pangs all through love, obsession, shattered heart and obviously by an adrifted amour. And all these concepts or ideas written by author's vivid imagination and fascinations towards poe...
