The Unattainable
Glimpses of what Heaven allows;
Crowned with ever-living laurel,
Joining in Joy's anthem choral,
Intellectual and moral
Beauty on our brows!
Oh! the consciousness convulses
That Hope faints in heavenward mounting,
Heart-beats break the heart, and pulses,
Throb on throb which we are counting,
Are but silent funeral knells,
Felt but heard not―Death is nearer,
All the while those chimes the dearer,
Nature darkening and drearer,
Till she drowns her bells.
Like to Night unstarred and noiseless,
Glooms the grave―and by its portal
Are the glimmering ghost-lights voiceless!
Know we that we are immortal?
Or is this a dream insane?
No―though dim are our discernings
We believe that these heart-burnings
From our birth―these God-like yearnings,
Were not given in vain.
WILLIAM GIBSON, U. S. N.
The Broadway Journal (October 18, 1845)
