THE CRIMSON ROSE.
135
Still thou art silent; bat I have a thought
Dawning within, that will not be forgot—
That thou will form one link in memory's chain;
I shall pace onward with my fate and tears,
But the soul wandering to our first, fond years,
Shall meet with thee again.
Dawning within, that will not be forgot—
That thou will form one link in memory's chain;
I shall pace onward with my fate and tears,
But the soul wandering to our first, fond years,
Shall meet with thee again.
Shall breathe the balm that trembles in thy cup,
Shall drink the perfume of thy spirit up,
And pour a soul-breathed incense from her own.
Alas! alas! that burning thoughts and high,
Should thus go forth into the world to die,
Unmourned for, and alone!
Shall drink the perfume of thy spirit up,
And pour a soul-breathed incense from her own.
Alas! alas! that burning thoughts and high,
Should thus go forth into the world to die,
Unmourned for, and alone!
Like thee, sweet rose! too often yielding forth
To hearts that feel not, things of little worth,
The very fragrancy on which they live,
Taking in cheap exchange the cold regard
That jealous caution urges as reward—
All that the world will give!
To hearts that feel not, things of little worth,
The very fragrancy on which they live,
Taking in cheap exchange the cold regard
That jealous caution urges as reward—
All that the world will give!
The heart is too much like thee! scattering round
Its red, ripe leaves upon a cold, hard ground;
Uttering from ruins broken words of love,
Which, though uncared for in this world of ours,
May shape their shining course thro' darksome hours,
And find their way above!
Its red, ripe leaves upon a cold, hard ground;
Uttering from ruins broken words of love,
Which, though uncared for in this world of ours,
May shape their shining course thro' darksome hours,
And find their way above!
