Frederick William Faber (1814–1863)

The Iconoclast

WHENCE comes this sinking heart, these failing powers?

Something hath touched my thoughts: they have no life,

And stir, like sickly things, in idle strife,

And madness haunts me all these midnight hours.

Friend! thou hast done it: thou hast broken down

All mine old images, and didst uncrown

The glorious things that reigned within my heart,

Because thou art more glorious. Hear me, then:—

If ever thou dost love me less, thou art

A curse, a blight, a marvel among men!

The spirit thou wert proud to call thine own,

Still round thy thoughts, a broken wreck, shall cling

And sit, upbraiding thee, a crownless king

In the poor ruined heart that thou wouldst leave so lone.

Absence from Oxford

CITY of God, my best and truest home!

When from thy holy places I depart

By far-off hills and river banks to roam,

I bear thy name about upon my heart.

City of glorious towers! whene'er I feel

The world's rude coldness o'er my spirit steal,

Then dost thou rise to view; thine elmy groves

Vocal with hymns of praise, thine old grey halls,

Where the wan sun of autumn sweetest falls,

Yon hill-side wood the nightingale so loves,

Thy rivers twain, of gentle foot, that pass,

Fed from a hundred willow-girdled wells,

Through the rich meadowlands of long green grass,

To the loud tunes of all thy convent-bells!