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Poem by Paul Hamilton Hayne


At Last


In youth, when blood was warm and fancy high,
I mocked at death. How many a quaint conceit
I wove about his veiled head and feet,
Vaunting aloud, Why need we dread to die?
But now, enthralled by deep solemnity,
Death's pale phantasmal shade I darkly greet:
Ghostlike it haunts the hearth, it haunts the street,
Or drearier makes drear midnight's mystery.
Ah, soul-perplexing vision! oft I deem
That antique myth is true which pictured death
A masked and hideous form all shrank to see;
But at the last slow ebb of mortal breath,
Death, his mask melting like a nightmare dream,
Smiled,heaven's high-priest of Immortality!



Paul Hamilton Hayne


Paul Hamilton Hayne's other poems:
  1. An Idle Poet, Dreaming in the Sun
  2. O God! What Glorious Seasons Bless Thy World!
  3. The Old Man of the Sea
  4. A Christmas Lyric
  5. The Laughing Hours before Her Feet


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Elizabeth Siddal At Last ("O mother, open the window wide")
  • Madison Cawein At Last ("What shall be said to him")

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