TO S. C. C,
UPON HER ATTEMPT TO SKETCH THE LIKENESS OF A DECEASED FRIEND.
I fear in vain you hope to trace
The features of her lovely face.
Bright, blessed vision! it is gone,
And left us in this world alone.
The features of her lovely face.
Bright, blessed vision! it is gone,
And left us in this world alone.
But should fond memory be true,
And every line present to view,
Yet would it want the heavenly soul
Which graced and harmonized the whole.
And every line present to view,
Yet would it want the heavenly soul
Which graced and harmonized the whole.
So when the rose has lived its day,
And with the night wind dies away,
And sheds its sweetly perfumed leaves,
Which the cold bosomed earth receives,—
And with the night wind dies away,
And sheds its sweetly perfumed leaves,
Which the cold bosomed earth receives,—
What though the tenderest love could save
Each leaflet from the chilling grave,
Yet, were it far beyond its power
To form again the lovely flower,—
Each leaflet from the chilling grave,
Yet, were it far beyond its power
To form again the lovely flower,—
The happier art, O, may we find,
To catch the likeness of her mind!
O, may it not be all in vain,
We strive to bid that live again.
To catch the likeness of her mind!
O, may it not be all in vain,
We strive to bid that live again.