Monotone Poem by Albert Pike

Come, gentle Dian, show thy crescent in
The sea of fading light that floods the west:
Sit, like a white swan on a blue sea's breast;
A dying swan, that with sweet melody
Of her last song tames the rebellious sea,
To slumberous quiet. Oh, shine forth, amid
The paling light, like beauty's lovely eye,
Half-beaming from its slowly lifting lid!
Shine out, and bless the world, fair Moon! for I,
Like the young flowers and leaves, do watch for thee,
As though thou wert the pleasant memory
Of a lost happiness.

I see her now,
And my heart quivers with a sudden glow
Of soothing sadness; as the still leaves move,
When the breeze stirs them with his voice of love.
Oh, gentle Moon! thy influence is like
A mother's love, thy light, a mother's eye.
Ah, mother, mother! how that dear name sends
Its echoes through the heart, and with them blends
The keen, fierce intonations of sharp woe!
Mother, dear mother! dark and sad is now
My path of life; heart-stricken and alone,
We tread our way in joyless unison.

Those that we loved so dearly, all are gone:
All, all are dead: and, mother, sadly thou
Thinkest of me, and weepest for thy son,
Toiling afar with the wild waves of life,
Stricken with tempest. Shall I ever steer
Homeward my shattered bark, and once more hear
Thy kind, calm tones of love, and feel thine eye
Beaming with deep affection, and the high
And holy spirit of a mother's love?
Yet even then how changed, how sad and stern
Will be my home, when anxiously I turn
Mine eyes around, to search for each lost face
That there should greet me!

Time, thy ceaseless pace
Tramples the heart and all its growth of hopes,
Like withering flowers. Go on, cold reveller!
And end thy work! I have had dreams, fond dreams,
Bright hopes, wild, fiery graspings after fame,
Flashes of proud ambition in my heart,
But all are buried now in many graves.
For what were home to me, should I return?
A trampled hearth, whose fire has ceased to burn!
A silent desert! a monotony!
A voiceless echo! an unshapen void,
Perhaps all starless! Mother! can it be,
That I shall lose thee, too? the fearful thought
Crushes my soul. AH? All?—Oh, spare me one!
Leave me one eye of love to light my soul,
When I return!