(,,,)

(…)

O! I confess to this, this thy secret choice
And in the solitude, I hear not thy voice
My sweetest, royal melody in the night sings alone
While I bow in melancholy to an empty throne.

From the heavens, in the bosom of the breeze
Are the shadows of the silent trees
Ah! Such wonders have I seen—
But are they today just as green
As when they first were viewed
While I weep in the solitude?

Remorse! I bear thee as a crown.
Though I have laid the scepter down,
I deny not the luster of the sacred jewel
And now, alone, this kingdom will rule
O’er me while I must forever endure
The troubles and angst which death can cure.

O! Great is the ruin of this forgotten king
To whose hand none ever shall bring
The kiss. Ah! how ragged hath accrued
The pain, the silence, and the solitude.

© 2021 Marten Hoyle