Thomas Aird Poems
The lights of joy at midnight hour
Were up in ancient Babylon.
Beauty and Pleasure, Pride and Power,
Were gathered round Belshazzar's Throne.
In farther halls the dance went on,
A pomp of circling peers was nigh;
Yet sate the King as if alone,
In boding gloom, he knew not why.
That midnight hour, forth came a Hand
And wrote along the darkened wall.
In fiery rows the letters stand,
And flaming out the King appal.
From round him, like a garment, tall
The princely heads, awed to the earth.
The Horror runs from hall to hall,
Devouring up the distant ...
A Winter Day: Morning
Yon ridge of trees against the frosty east
Of Morn, how thin, how fine, how spiritualised
Their fringe of naked branches, and of twigs,
Distinct, though multitudinous and small!
Still rarified, they seem about to be
Consumed to nothing in the candent glow
Breathed up before the Sun. Lo! in their stems
His ruddy disc; and now the rayless orb,
Round and entire, is up, on the fixed eye