<
>

To Despair

Susan Evance

Pale ruthless Demon! terrible Despair!
Whose step is horror, and whose voice is death!
Thou rid'st on blasts that rend the midnight air,
Mingling with wintry storms thy baleful breath.

Oft too thou sit'st upon a gloomy rock
That overhangs the wild and boist'rous deep;
Where foaming waves the ship-wreck'd seaman mock,
And o'er his head with raging fury sweep.

There dost thou view him struggling with the wave,
And panting, try to gain the welcome shore;
But ah thou doom'st him to a briny grave
And soon he fainting sinks... to rise no more.

Unpitying Demon! sure thy pow'r accurst
Is of all human miseries the worst.

Home :: Poetry :: Apologia (3) :: To Despair

Loading Google Search Box... (if JavaScript is enabled)