never heard
tale
by John Milton
by Roberto
Lavidez
when I consider
how my light
is spent
e’re half
my days in
this dark
world
and wide
and listen
why for I will
tell you now
what never yet
was heard
in tale or song
my soul
o save me
for thy
goodness
sake for in
death no
remembrance
is of thee
thou in the
lowest pit
profound
has sit me
all forlorn
where thickest
darkness
hovers round
in horrid deeps
to mourn
for now
to sorrow
must I tune
my song
and set
my harp
to notes of
saddest wo
me in my
vow’d picture
the sacred
wall
declares t’
have hung
my dark and
dropping
weeds to
the stern
god of sea
the lonely
mountains
o’re and
the resounding
shore
a voice of
weeping
heard and
loud lament
the melting
voice through
mazes running
untwisting
all the chains
that ty
the hidden soul
of harmony
that dumb
things would
be mov’d
to sympathize
and the
brute earth
would lend
her nerves
and shake
teach light
to counterfeit
a gloom
far from all
resort of mirth
save the cricket
on the hearth
some sign
of good
to me afford
and let
my foes
then see and
be asham’d
because
thou lord
do’st help and
comfort me
when by
the rout
that made
the hideous
roar
his goary
visage
down
the stream
was sent
god is a
just judge
and severe
and god is
every day
offended
lord god
of hosts
how long
wilt thou
how long wilt
thou declare
thy smoking
wrath and
angry brow
defend the poor
and desolate
and rescue
from the
hands of
wicked men
the low estate
of him that
help demands
the oracles
are dum
no voice or
hideous hum
runs through
the arched roof
in words
deceiving
and I might
think th’
infection of
my sorrow
loud
had got
a race
of mourners
on som
pregnant cloud
that glassy
flouds from
rugged rocks
can crush and
make soft
rills from fiery
flint-stones
gush
mercy and
truth that
long were
miss’d
now joyfully
are met
sweet
peace and
righteousness
have kiss’d
and
hand in hand
are set
tell me
bright
spirit
where e’re
thou
hoverest
whether
above
the high
first –
moving
spheare
or in the
elisian
fields
if such
there were
that we
on earth with
undiscording
voice
may rightly
answer
that
melodious
noise
to thee
my song
will I tell
my secret
and do
thou make
answer for
me
when strait
a barbarous
noise
environs me
of owles and
cuckoes
asses
apes and
dogs
of shades and
wanton winds
and gushing
brooks
on whose
fresh lap
the swart star
sparsely
looks
throw hither
all your
quaint
enameld eyes
the fly
me now
whom I have
lov’d
and as in
darkness are.
finis
©robertolavidez2014
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