Poems of Sentiment and Imagination/Heart-Breathings
HEART-BREATHINGS.
And must we thus bear on, thus give to pride
A mastery not its own; wear a bright brow
Wreathed with cold smiles that come not from the heart,
And clothe our thoughts in language of the mind,
While the soul lies a writhing, moaning thing,
Beneath this calm exterior? Oh! must
A thousand gushing impulses be crushed,
Ground by the heel of pride, that lifts its brow
With a false garnish—as the ivy gives
Freshness to what is fallen in decay,
While the heart perishes?
O for the privilege which the world grants not,
To be but what we are! True, there may pass
Over our hearts a devastating fire,
A scorching blast to lay them desolate;
But from the ashes of the past may spring
A stronger blossom, with a deeper glow,
"Than tinged its earliest flower."
The glancing streams,
That play through all our hearts impulsively,
May find a deep, broad channel, where their flow,
Thenceforward will be silent, low, and strong;
But oh, must it be hidden? Then give back
The storm and lightning—let the tempest howl—
It were far easier than this, to bear
The constant wearing of the heart away!