Complaints Poem by Bedros Tourian

FAREWELL to thee, O God, to thee, O sun,
Ye twain that shine above my soul on high!
My spirit from the earth must pass away;
I go to add a star to yonder sky.
What are the stars but curses of sad souls,—
Souls guiltless, but ill-fated, that take flight
To burn the brow of heaven ? They only serve
To make more strong the fiery armor bright
Of God, the source of lightnings ! But, ah me !
What words are these I speak? With thunder smite,
O God, and shatter the presumptuous thoughts
That fill me, — giant thoughts and infinite,
Thoughts of an atom in thy universe,
Whose spirit dares defy its mortal bars,
And seeks to dive into the depth of heaven,
And climb the endless stairway of the stars !
Hail to thee, God, thou Lord of trembling man,
Of waves and flowers, of music and of light!
Thou who hast taken from my brow the rose,
And from my soul the power of soaring flight;
Thou who hast spread a cloud before mine eyes,
And given these deathly flutterings to my heart,
And bidd’st me smile upon thee on the brink
Of the dark tomb, to which I must depart!
Doubtless thou hast for me a future life
Of boundless light, of fragrance, prayer, and praise ;
But, if my last breath here below must end
Speechless and mute, breathed out in mist and haze—
Ah, then, instead of any heavenly life
To greet me when my earthly span is o’er,
May I become a pallid lightning flash,
Cling to thy name, and thunder evermore !
Let me become a curse, and pierce thy side!
Yea, let me call thee ' God the pitiless ! '
Ah me, I tremble! I am pale as death;
My heart foams like a hell of bitterness !
I am a sigh that moans among the sad,
Dark cypresses, — a withered leaf the strife
Of autumn winds must quickly bear away.
Ah, give me but one spark, one spark of life !
What! after this brief, transitory dream
Must I embrace for aye the grave’s cold gloom?
O God, how dark a destiny is mine I
Was it writ out with lees from the black tomb?
Oh, grant my soul one particle of fire !
I would still love, would live, and ever
Stars, drop into my soul! A single spark
Of life to your ill-fated lover give !
Spring offers not one rose to my pale brow,
The sunbeams lend me not one smile of light.
Night is my bier, the stars my torches are,
The moon weeps ever in the depths of night.
Some men there are with none to weep for them ;
Therefore God made the moon. In shadows dim
Of corning death, man has but two desires, —
First, life; then some one who shall mourn for him.
In vain for me the stars have written ' Love,'
The bulbul taught it me with silver tongue ;
In vain the zephyrs breathed it, and in vain
My image in the clear stream showed me young.
In vain the groves kept silence round about,
The secret leaves forbore to breathe or stir
Lest they should break my reveries divine ;
Ever they suffered me to dream of her.
In vain the flowers, dawn of the spring, breathed forth
Incense to my heart’s altar, from the sod.
Alas, they all have mocked me ! All the world.
Is nothing but the mockery of God!