Poems (Eliza Gabriella Lewis)/I'll dream no more
"My first look on thy spotless spirit fell.
And fate put forth its hand—inexorable—cold."
Schiller
And fate put forth its hand—inexorable—cold."
Schiller
I'll dream no more; let me go forth
Where the wild rose seeks its dwelling,
'Neath the green-wood shade in quiet laid
By the fountain gently swelling.
Where the wild rose seeks its dwelling,
'Neath the green-wood shade in quiet laid
By the fountain gently swelling.
The fire of youth from my brow hath pas'd,
Tho' the minstrel spell is o'er me,
Yet the chords are jarred and the music marred,
Of the broken lute before me.
Tho' the minstrel spell is o'er me,
Yet the chords are jarred and the music marred,
Of the broken lute before me.
No hand again may touch its chords,
Or its loosened strings awaken:
Life's happy dreams, like its music, seems
A melody forsaken.
Or its loosened strings awaken:
Life's happy dreams, like its music, seems
A melody forsaken.
Forsaken—yet life's stream flows on,
And it beareth on its foam
The wreck of towers, built in happier hours,
When the spirit loved to roam.
And it beareth on its foam
The wreck of towers, built in happier hours,
When the spirit loved to roam.
And the murmuring of its restless wave,
(For memory such thou art,)
Tho' its every tone be but a moan,
Findeth echo in my heart.
(For memory such thou art,)
Tho' its every tone be but a moan,
Findeth echo in my heart.
I'll dream no more; dreams are not bliss,
When the heart and lute are riven;
We can weave no spell despair to quell,
'Till we forth the fiend have driven.
When the heart and lute are riven;
We can weave no spell despair to quell,
'Till we forth the fiend have driven.