Dove of Thought
THE DOVE OF THOUGHT.
Lone the dove of thought goes lagging
Through the storm, with pinions dragging
O'er an autumn lake the while.
Earth 's aflame, the heart 's a-fever.
Seek, my dove,—alas! thou never
Comest to Oblivion's isle.
Through the storm, with pinions dragging
O'er an autumn lake the while.
Earth 's aflame, the heart 's a-fever.
Seek, my dove,—alas! thou never
Comest to Oblivion's isle.
Hapless dove, shall one brief minute,
Flaming, fright thee to a swoon?
Sleep thou on my hand. Full soon,
Hushed and hurt, thou'lt lie within it.
Flaming, fright thee to a swoon?
Sleep thou on my hand. Full soon,
Hushed and hurt, thou'lt lie within it.
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