Littell's Living Age/Volume 130/Issue 1681/To Kate

TO KATE.

Why does this feeling of unrest
Deep rooted live within my breast?
I have no reason to complain
Of fickle fortune, and no stain
Or memory of evil haunts me.
What have I sown that I should reap
The whirlwind, — that I cannot — sleep
Or waking — ever be at ease?
I look among my treasures rare,
My treasures rich beyond compare,
I search them idly through and through,
And 'though I have but few, but few,
The one of all to me most dear,
Alas! I do not find it here.

You ask what jewel have I lost,
Of such immensity and cost,
And who the culprit bold can be
Who stole my peace of mind from me.
A woman is the criminal.
She has such eyes of heav'nly blue,
That speak of heart and soul so true,
I fear I cannot prove her guilt;
For judge and jury will refuse
To hear the pleading of my muse,
To listen to a charge of theft
From one of reason almost 'reft, —
They'll not believe the story, mine,
'Gainst honest face and eyes as thine.

T.
Transcript.