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POEMS
BY METTA VICTORIA FULLER.
("SINGING SYBIL.")
THE POET LOVERS.
"I will string my harp with its sweetest strings,
And will sit me at thy feet,
And my hand shall waken a strain for thee
That is swellingly wild and sweet.
Look down! look down! on the waves of song
As they rise, and fall, and die—
Do you not see my wordless thoughts
Like barks glide murmuring by?
Like fairy boats they are sweeping on
To a measure slow and rare,
And a beautiful troop of aery dreams
Is the light freight which they bear.
Does not each troop as it glideth past
To your eye familiar seem?
'Tis from thy tone, thy smile, thy glance,
I have fashioned every dream.
Those with the wings of shining gold
That are quivering for their flight,
Those I wove when thy earnest tones
Told of the future bright.
Those with the starry brows, and pure.
So calm, and placid, and fair.
Steal to my heart when you whisper low
Your love on the still night air.
And will sit me at thy feet,
And my hand shall waken a strain for thee
That is swellingly wild and sweet.
Look down! look down! on the waves of song
As they rise, and fall, and die—
Do you not see my wordless thoughts
Like barks glide murmuring by?
Like fairy boats they are sweeping on
To a measure slow and rare,
And a beautiful troop of aery dreams
Is the light freight which they bear.
Does not each troop as it glideth past
To your eye familiar seem?
'Tis from thy tone, thy smile, thy glance,
I have fashioned every dream.
Those with the wings of shining gold
That are quivering for their flight,
Those I wove when thy earnest tones
Told of the future bright.
Those with the starry brows, and pure.
So calm, and placid, and fair.
Steal to my heart when you whisper low
Your love on the still night air.
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