Poems (Brown)/The Broken-Hearted

by Carrie L. Brown

For works with similar titles, see The Broken-Hearted.

THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 

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Alone by the open window she stands,
And folds on the sill her pale white hands;
She bows her head, so silent and low,
And lifts her eye with a tearful glow.

She raises her glance to the setting sun,
And thinks of her young life, just begun;
She thinks of the one who vowed to love,
But who at her side has ceased to rove.

She thinks of her childhood's happy hour,
When the pleasant bell, in yon church tower,
Pealed forth sweet chimes, and all were glad:
But now her heart is sad,—yes, very sad.

She folds on her breast her snowy hands,
And in her eye the tear-drop stands.
She heeds them not! her heart is broken!
For she, alas! is now forsaken.

There was a time—though long ago—
When she had thought he loved her so;
That love, ah! it has since grown cold,—
That loving heart has now grown old.

There was a time—but, O! 'tis past,
When in his arms he fondly clasped
Her gentle, slender, girlish form,
And vowed to shield it from all storm.

What careless words are often told!
What unkind acts the past enfold!
What tearful sights, what broken hearts!
E'en from their memory we often smart.

She stands, and leans on the window-pane
Her aching head, till each blue vein
Seems ready to burst. Can this be true?
O, God! our Father! what shall she do?

Hark, to a step! She shuddered and pressed
Her trembling child to her throbbing breast;
But now all is past! her trials o'er,
That gentle heart will grieve no more.