Poems (Eliza Gabriella Lewis)/The Impatient

by Eliza Gabriella Lewis

THE IMPATIENT.

Why stays he thus? he would be here
 If his love equalled mine;—
Methinks, had I one fond caged dove,
 I would not let it pine!

He comes no more to see me,—
 (He called me his wild flower,)
I hear that winning sound no more,—
 But, oh! I feel its power.

I'm weary with my watching—
 Because I watch in vain;—
But woman's heart must suffer much
 In solitude and pain.

What is it keeps him from me?
 Oh! if my eyes are dim,
He might have known 'twas weariness,
 In watching long for him.

And if my cheek has faded,
 Kind words could make it bloom;
His voice could call my spirit back,
 Though sinking to the tomb.

But now I'll weep no more—
 Why should I weep in vain?
Oh! robe me in a garb of pride,
 Deck me with jewel'd chain!

I'll seek, in halls of splendor,
 Forgetfulness and Scorn;
The blood of my own haughty line,
 Hath ill his falsehood borne.

The red-rose on my forehead,
 Shall brightly bloom at eve;
Farewell, farewell, false love of mine,
 No longer will I grieve.

Scarce had the maiden spoken,
 When, springing to her side,
A manly form kneels at her feet,—
 Oh! where was woman's pride?