Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ON MY LATE DEAR WIFE, by JONATHAN RICHARDSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ON MY LATE DEAR WIFE, by                    
First Line: Adieu, dear life! Here am I left alone
Last Line: When I but see the shadow of her shade.
Subject(s): Death; Dreams; Marriage; Dead, The; Nightmares; Weddings; Husbands; Wives


(i)

ADIEU, dear life! here am I left alone;
The world is strangely changed since thou art gone.
Compose thyself to rest, all will be well;
I'll come to bed 'as fast as possible'.
Jan. 18, 1726

(ii)

Slumb'ring disturbed, appeared the well-known face,
Lovely, engaging, as she ever was;
I kissed and caught the phantom in my arms,
I knew it such, but such a shade hath charms!
Devout, I thanked kind heaven that, with a wife,
Had brightened up my choicest years of life;
But now, alas! 'tis thus!—She sighed—Poor heart!
A melancholy phantom as thou art,
From thee more happiness I thus receive
Than all the living woman-kind can give.
This as I was about to say,
But scrupling, is my heart yet free?
It is, as on our wedding day,
For she was all the sex to me.
I waked, and found it was a shade indeed.
She and her future sighs, or smiles, were fled;
I now am sighing in my widowed bed.
Really dreamed, July 14–15, 1726

(iii)

I know not where, but gloomy was the place,
Methought I saw a gloomy phantom pass;
'Twas she, the much-loved form! nor spoke, nor stayed,
No motion of her eyes, or hand, or head,
But, gliding on, I lost her in the shade.
All solemn was, no argument of love
Appeared her inward sentiment to prove;
Confused and grieved, I stood; then spoke my heart:
Who could have thought such lovers thus would part!
Dreamed, Sept. 10–11
Written, Sept. 16, 1726

(iv)

On My Dreaming of My Wife
As waked from sleep, methought I heard the voice
Of one that mourned; I listened to the noise
I looked, and quickly found it was my dear;
Dead as she was, I little thought her there.
I questioned her with tenderness, while she
Sighed only, but would else still silent be.
I waked indeed; the lovely mourner's gone,
She sighs no more, 'tis I that sigh alone.

Musing on her, I slept again, but where
I went I know not, but I found her there.
Her lovely eyes she kindly fixed on me,
'Let Miser not be nangry then,' said she,
A language love had taught, and love alone
Could teach; we prattled as we oft had done,
But she, I know not how, was quickly gone.

With her imaginary presence blessed,
My slumbers are emphatically rest;
I of my waking thoughts can little boast.
They always sadly tell me she is lost.
Much of our happiness we always owe
To error, better to believe than know!
Return, delusion sweet, and oft return!
I joy, mistaken; undeceived, I mourn;
But all my sighs and griefs are fully paid,
When I but see the shadow of her shade.





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