 | [Poems by Duganne in] The floral gift, from nature and the heart |  |
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PENSIVE BEAUTY.
Art thou not near me, with thy earnest eyes,
That weep forth sympathy!—thy holy brow,
Whereon such sweet imaginings do rise:
Art thou not near me, when I call thee now,
Maid of my childhood's vow!
That weep forth sympathy!—thy holy brow,
Whereon such sweet imaginings do rise:
Art thou not near me, when I call thee now,
Maid of my childhood's vow!
Even like an angel, smiling 'mid the storm,
Wert thou amid the darkness of my woes—
Thy pure thoughts clustering around thy form,
Like seraph garments, whiter than the snows
Which the wild sea upthrows.
Wert thou amid the darkness of my woes—
Thy pure thoughts clustering around thy form,
Like seraph garments, whiter than the snows
Which the wild sea upthrows.
Now I behold thee, with thy sorrowing smile,
And thy deep soul uplooking from thy face,
While sweetly crost upon thy breast the while,
Thy white hands do thy holy heart embrace,
In its calm dwelling-place!
And thy deep soul uplooking from thy face,
While sweetly crost upon thy breast the while,
Thy white hands do thy holy heart embrace,
In its calm dwelling-place!
Duganne.
| [Poems by Duganne in] The floral gift, from nature and the heart | |