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 I am restless 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. Times like these,
When our whole Past is roughly set apart,
Leaves the soul full of love, yet ill at ease.
Yon pictured skies the sunset breeze is shaking
From the still lake are stabler types of Heaven,
Than the brief friendships whose loud pledge was given
Mid the wild sport of moral image-breaking.