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Title: Song Of To-Morrow
Author: Olive Tilford Dargan [
More Titles by Dargan]
Sound, O Harp of Being, set
Deathless in the winds of time!
All thine ancient part forget,
Wailing lust, and strife, and crime!
Clouds of hate are now sweet rain:
Thou shall never moan again.
Harp of Being, O forget
Hesper dead that played on thee,
All her golden fingers wet
With the blood of misery!
Morning sweeps along thy strings;
Thou art done with yester things.
Bright thou art with drops that fell
Watering earth's long-buried Spring;
Thou hast quivered safe through Hell
Where Love found immortal wing;
Sound, while Life unfrenzied calls
Joy to hallowed Bacchanals!
Harp of Dawn, forget, forget!
Sound thee of the hours now come
When the vine and violet
Bind to earth the fallen drum.
Palsied as a dying star
Fails the shaken torch of war!
From each pennoned pinnacle
Of the cities of the free,
Clasped in time invisible,
Flows the wonder flown to thee;
Thou so swift to throb and start
With the singing earth's new heart!
By the light that sets mind free,
By the night that once it wore,
By the soul man is to be,
By the beast he is no more;
By thy past, unmeasured pain,
Thou shalt never moan again.
[The end]
Olive Tilford Dargan's poem: Song Of To-Morrow
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