A Dirge.

Winds are sighing round the drooping eaves;
    Sadly float the midnight hours away;
Dun and grey athwart the ivy-leaves,
    Fall the first pale chilly tints of day,
    Ah me! the weary, weary tints of day.

Soon the darkness will be past and gone;
    Soon the silence spread its noiseless wing;
Sleep will strike its tent and hurry on;
    Life commence its weary wandering,
    Ah me! its weary, weary wandering.

Not the sighing of my lonely heart,
    Not the heavy grief-clouds hanging o'er,
Not its silence can with night depart:
    Gloom hangs o'er it ever, evermore,
    Ah me! darkness ever, evermore.

Walter R. Cassels

Walter R. Cassels was a British poet and author primarily known for his collection of religious poetry, "Supernatural Religion" published in the late 19th century. Though the work was initially published anonymously, it sparked considerable controversy and debate over its skeptical views on Christianity and the supernatural. Cassels' style is marked by thought-provoking themes and meticulous craftsmanship, placing him among notable literary figures of his time.

Walter R. Cassels

The Raven.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

Memnon.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

The Delectable Mountains.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

Whither?

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

English

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At Eventide.

        The day fades fast;
And backward ebbs the tide of light
From the far hills in billows bright,
    Scattering foam, as they sweep past,
O'er the low clouds that bank the sky,
And barrier day off solemnly.

        Above the land
Grey shadows stretch out, still and cold,
Flinging o'er water, wood, and wold,
    Mysterious shapes, whose ghastly hand
    Presses down sorrow on the heart,
And silence on the lips that part.

        The dew-mist broods
Heavy and low o'er field and fen,
Like gloom above the souls of men;
    And through the forest solitudes
The fitful night-wind rustles by,
Breathing many a wailing sigh--

        O Day! O Life!
Ending in gloom together here--
Though not one star of Hope appear,
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Walter R. Cassels

A Night Scene.

The lights have faded from the little casement,
    As though her closing eyes had brought on night;
    And now she dreams--Ah! dreams supremely bright,
While silence reigns around from roof to basement.
    And slow the moon is mounting up the sky,
Drawing Heaven's myriads in her queenly train,
    Flinging rich largesse, as she passes by,
Of beauty freely over hill and plain.

Around the lattice creep the pure white roses,
    And one light bough rests gently on the pane,
    The diamond pane, through which the angel train
Gaze on the sister saint who there reposes;
    The moonlight silvers softly o'er it now;
And round the eaves the south wind whispers lowly,
    Waving the leaves like curls on maiden's brow;
The peace and stillness make the place seem ho...

Walter R. Cassels

Wind.

Oh! weird West Wind, that comest from the sea,
    Sad with the murmur of the weary waves,
    Wand'ring for ever through old ocean caves,
Why troublest thou the hearts that list to thee,
With echoes of forgotten misery?

The night is black with clouds that thou art bringing
    From the far waters of the stormy main,
    Welling their woes forth wearily in rain,
Betwixt us and the light their dark course winging,
And dreary shadows o'er the spirit flinging.

Whence is thy power to smite the silent heart,
    Till as of old the unseal'd waters run?
    Whence is thy magic, Oh! thou unseen one,
To make still sorrows from their slumbers start,
And play again, unsought, their bitter part?

We are all one with Nature--every breeze
    Stealeth about...

Walter R. Cassels

Gone.

The night is dark, and evermore
    The thick drops patter on the pane
    The wind is weary of the rain,
And round the thatches moaneth sore;
    Dark is the night, and cold the air;
    And all the trees stand stark and bare,
With leaves spread dank and sere below,
    Slow rotting on the plashy clay,
    In the God's-acre far away,
Where she, O God! lies cold below--
        Cold, cold below!

And many a bitter day and night
    Have pour'd their storms upon her breast,
    And chill'd her in her long, long rest,
With foul corruption's icy blight;
    Earth's dews are freezing round the heart,
    Where love alone so late had part;
And evermore the frost and snow
    Are burrowing downward through the clay,
    In the God's-acre far away...

Walter R. Cassels

Years Ago.

    This day it was--Ah! years ago,
Long years ago, when first we met;
When first her voice thrill'd through my heart,
Aeolian-sweet, thrill'd through my heart;
    And glances from her soft brown eyes,
    Like gleamings out of Paradise,
Shone on my heart, and made it bright
With fulness of celestial light;
This day it seems--this day--and yet,
    Ah! years ago--long years ago.

    This day it was--Ah! years ago,
Long years ago, when first I knew
How all her beauty fill'd my soul,
With mystic glory fill'd my soul;
    And every word and smile she gave,
    Like motions of a sunlit wave,
Rock'd me with divine emotion,
Joyous, o'er Life's smiling ocean;
This day it seems--this day--and yet,
    Ah! years ago--long years ago.

   ...

Walter R. Cassels

Northumbria. - A Dirge.

Dirge the sorrows by time made dim:
    Seas are sullen in rain and mist.
Regret the woes that behind us swim:
    Sullen's the north and grey the east.

Black boats speck the horizon's rim:
    The north is heavy and grey the east.
They plash to shore in unison grim:
    The breakers roar through rain and mist.

Ah! the ravening Dane of old!
    Joys are born of time and sorrow.
He was beautiful, cruel and bold:
    Death yesterday is life to-morrow.

The slain lie stark on bented mounds:
    Winds are calling in rain and mist.
There's blood and smoke and wide red wounds,
    And black boats make to north and east.

Through murky weltering seas they row:
    Dirge the eyes their deed...

Thomas Runciman