Poems (Chitwood)/Lines (There's many a spot unlovely to the sight)
For works with similar titles, see Lines.
LINES.
There's many a spot unlovely to the sight,
Where not a flower may grow nor zephyr sigh,
Nor bird may rest with half closed, jetty eye,
Nor dew may glisten, holding for the bee
A lucid cup composed of rainbow dyes,
Nor leaf may float there wavering from the tree
'Neath the soft winds of gold Autumnal skies—
But there will creep a blesséd ray of light,
Making the rough sands glittering and bright.
Where not a flower may grow nor zephyr sigh,
Nor bird may rest with half closed, jetty eye,
Nor dew may glisten, holding for the bee
A lucid cup composed of rainbow dyes,
Nor leaf may float there wavering from the tree
'Neath the soft winds of gold Autumnal skies—
But there will creep a blesséd ray of light,
Making the rough sands glittering and bright.
So on the lowliest heart love's genial ray
Will softly fall in sorrow's saddest hour.
Though it may bear no fresh and fragrant flower,
And Time's dark hand be raised to sweep away,
Yet will it wake a low, sweet music there,
A trembling note of most delicious peace,
A tone to still the haggard voice of care,
And bid woe's jarring notes a moment cease.
There is no heart so given to despair,
But love's sweet rays will creep and glisten there.
Will softly fall in sorrow's saddest hour.
Though it may bear no fresh and fragrant flower,
And Time's dark hand be raised to sweep away,
Yet will it wake a low, sweet music there,
A trembling note of most delicious peace,
A tone to still the haggard voice of care,
And bid woe's jarring notes a moment cease.
There is no heart so given to despair,
But love's sweet rays will creep and glisten there.