To-morrow Morn [poem by E. J. Brady]

[Editor: This poem by E. J. Brady was published in The Earthen Floor (1902).]

XVII.

To-morrow Morn.

To-night, to-night with tear-wet eyes,
I saw her dear, dead face uprise;
I watched her loving lips, long cold,
To life’s red bloom once more unfold;
I watched the frosted, silver spray
Of moonbeams on her bosom play,
I heard her heart with love for me,
While earth was hushed, beat audibly.

Oh, cruel dream; oh, hope forlorn,
The sun will dance to-morrow morn
.
But from the grave where sleeps my Day
What hand can roll the stone away?

To-night, to-night; I held, I swear,
The golden treasure of her hair;
I kissed her brow, I felt her breath —
Ah, Love, they say, can conquer Death.
And ne’er will be, nor was before,
Love like the love that we two bore;
But for her life Death fought with me
To gain, alas! dread victory.

Ah Death! unjust to spare the grey
And steal that young, glad heart away!
Oh, cruel dream; oh, hope forlorn;
The sun will dance to-morrow morn
.

From ashes cold of burnt-out years,
She came to me amidst my tears —
The bitter-sweet, the pleasure-pain,
In one swift thought we lived again.
Her eyes of light, her lips of red,
I kissed — ah me ! My Love is dead,
My love is dead, is dead, is dead,
My star, my peace, my heart is dead.

Ah, cruel dream, ah, wish forlorn,
The sun will dance to-morrow morn;
But from that grave where sunbeams play,
What hand shall roll the stone away?

To-night, to-night, unheard so long,
She sang that old gondola song:
And as she sang she laid her head
Upon my heart! She is NOT dead.

Beyond the star depths, far away,
In lands unknown she lives alway.
She lives, she lives, and waits and sings
To seraphs awed, with golden wings.
She sings to them a love divine
That conquers Death — ’tis hers and mine!

Ah, fancy fond! Ah, Hope forlorn,
The Sun will dance to-morrow morn.

She came beneath the white moon-rays:
The night wind sighing through the maize,
The night dew falling cold and damp,
The twinkling fires of yonder camp,
The silver clouds and silent sky,
The countless stars that watched on high,
And Night herself will witness be
My long dead Love came back to me.

Ah, fervid dream! Ah, Hope forlorn,
The sun will dance to-morrow morn;
But from the grave where sleeps my Day,
What hand can roll the stone away?

This cup to Care! Farewell to Thought!
Life’s bitter-sweets are dearly bought.

Our hearts have scars. Well let that be,
We’ll hide them so that none may see,
We’ll hide the wounds till one glad day
Our wounds and we are borne away.

Oh, solace sad; ah, pleasant thorn
The sun will dance to-morrow morn,
And from the grave where sleeps my Day
Death rolls at last the stone away.



Source:
E. J. Brady, The Earthen Floor, Grafton (N.S.W.): Grip Newspaper Co., 1902

Editor’s notes:
The repeated line in this poem “What hand can roll the stone away?” is a reference to the story of the resurrection of Jesus Christ, where the large stone covering the entrance to his tomb was rolled away, and it was discovered that he was no longer there, but had risen from the dead (in total, the final line of four stanzas in the poem contain a similar reference).

alway = (archaic) always

grey = old people (people who are old enough to have grey hair)

morn = morning

ne’er = never

seraph = an angel (one of the Seraphim), regarded as a highly-ranked order of angel (the Seraphim are mentioned in the Bible, in Isaiah 6: “I saw also the Lord sitting upon a throne . . . Above it stood the seraphims: each one had six wings”)

yonder = at a distance; far away

Old spelling in the original text:
’tis (it is)

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