Speak! said my soul, be stern and adequate; <br />The sunset falls from Heaven, the year is late, <br />Love waits with fallen tresses at thy gate <br /> And mourns for perished days. <br />Speak! in the rigor of thy fate and mine, <br />Ere these scant, dying days, bright-lipped with wine, <br />All one by one depart, resigned, divine, <br /> Through desert, autumn ways. <br /> <br />Speak! thou art lonely in thy chilly mind, <br />With all this desperate solitude of wind, <br />The solitude of tears that make thee blind, <br /> Of wild and causeless tears. <br />Speak! thou hast need of me, heart, hand and head, <br />Speak, if it be an echo of thy dread, <br />A dirge of hope, of young illusions dead -- <br /> Perchance God hears!<br /><br />George Cabot Lodge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/exordium/
