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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
EVENING IN BURMAH, by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: A night of wonder! Piled afar Last Line: My solace and my hope, in death! | |||
A night of wonder! piled afar With ebon feet and crests of snow, Like Himalaya's peaks, which bar The sunset and the sunset's star From half the shadowed vale below, Volumed and vast the dense clouds lie, And over them, and down the sky, Paled in the moon, the lightnings go. And what a strength of light and shade Is chequering all the earth below! And, through the jungle's verdant braid, Of tangled vine and wild reed made, What blossoms in the moonlight glow! The Indian rose's loveliness, The ceiba with its crimson dress, The twining myrtle dropped with snow. And flitting in the fragrant air, Or nestling in the shadowy trees, A thousand bright-hued birds are there -- Strange plumage, quivering wild and rare, With every faintly breathing breeze; And, wet with dew from roses shed, The bulbul droops her weary head, Forgetful of her melodies. Uprising from the orange-leaves, The tall pagoda's turrets glow; O'er graceful shaft and fretted eaves, Its verdant web the myrtle weaves, And hangs in flowering wreaths below; And where the clustered palms eclipse The moonbeams, from its marble lips The fountain's silver waters flow. Strange beauty fills the earth and air, The fragrant grove and flowering tree, And yet my thoughts are wandering where My native rocks lie bleak and bare, A weary way beyond the sea. The yearning spirit is not here; It lingers on a spot more dear Than India's brightest bowers to me. Methinks I tread the well-known street -- The tree my childhood loved is there, Its bare-worn roots are at my feet, And through its open boughs I meet White glimpses of the place of prayer; And unforgotten eyes again Are glancing through the cottage pane, Than Asia's lustrous eyes more fair. Oh, holy haunts! oh childhood's home! Where, now, my wandering heart, is thine? Here, where the dusky heathen come To bow before the deaf and dumb, Dead idols of their own design; Where in their worshipped river's tide The infant sinks, and on its side The widow's funeral altars shine! Here, where, 'mid light and song and flowers, The priceless soul in ruin lies; Lost, dead to all those better powers Which link this fallen world of ours To God's clear-shining Paradise; And wrong and shame and hideous crime Are like the foliage of their clime, The unshorn growth of centuries! Turn, then, my heart; thy home is here; No other now remains for thee: The smile of love, and friendship's tear, The tones that melted on thine ear, The mutual thrill of sympathy, The welcome of the household band, The pressure of the lip and hand, Thou mayst not hear, nor feel, nor see. God of my spirit! Thou, alone, Who watchest o'er my pillowed head, Whose ear is open to the moan And sorrowing of thy child, hast known The grief which at my heart has fed; The struggle of my soul to rise Above its earth-born sympathies; The tears of many a sleepless bed! Oh! be Thine arm, as it hath been, In every test of heart and faith, -- The tempter's doubt, the wiles of men, The heathen's scoff, the bosom sin, -- A helper and a stay beneath; A strength in weakness, through the strife And anguish of my wasting life -- My solace and my hope, in death! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN AUTOGRAPH (1) by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER ASTRAEA by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER AT LAST by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER AT PORT ROYAL by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER BARBARA FRIETCHIE [SEPTEMBER 13, 1862] by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER BARCLAY OF URY by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER BENEDICITE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER BROWN OF OSSAWATOMIE [DECEMBER 2, 1859] by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER BURNS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK; 1658 by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |
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