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A Victorian Scrapbook

A Scrapbook of Newspaper Articles Compiled by George Burgess (1829-1905)

Victorian Poetry

I know Thou Hast Gone

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Transcript from original newspaper article: -


I know thou hast gone to the home of thy rest, -
Then why should my soul be so sad?
I know thou hast gone where the weary are blest,
And the mourner look up and is glad;
Where Love has put off, in the land of its birth,
The stains it had gathered in this,
And hope, the sweet singer, that gladdened the earth,
Lies asleep on the bosom of bliss.

I know thou hast gone where thy forehead is starred
With the beauty that dwelt in thy soul,
Where the light of thy loveliness cannot be marred,
Nor thy heart be flung back from it goal;
I know thou hast drank of the Lethe, that flows
Through a land where they do not forget,
That sheds over memory only repose,
And takes from it only regret.

In thy far away dwelling, wherever it be,
I believe thou hast visions of mine,
And the love that made all things a music to me,
I yet have not learnt to resign;
In the hush of the night, in the waste of the sea,
Or alone with the breeze on the hill,
I have ever a presence that whispers of thee,
And my spirit lies down and is still.

Mine eye must be dark that so long has been dimmed,
Ere again it may gaze upon thine,
But my heart has revealings of thee and thy home,
In many a token and sign;
I never look up, with a vow, to the sky,
But a light like thy beauty is there.
And I hear a low tone, like thine, in reply,
When I pour out my spirit in prayer.

And though like a mourner that sits by a tomb,
I am wrapped in a mantle of care,
Yet the grief of my bosom – oh! call it not gloom –
Is not the black grief of despair,
By sorrows revealed, as the stars are by night,
Far off a bright vision appears,
And hope, like the rainbow, a creature of light,
Is born, like the rainbow of tears.

I Know Thou Hast Gone