 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
STANZAS
WRITTEN AFTER THE SECOND READING OF “CORINNA.”
Childhood's glad smile was on my lip, life's sunshine on my brow,
When first I looked upon the page that lies before me now;
'Twas mystery all—I had not learned the love of woman's heart,
No meaning to my spirit could its thrilling words impart.
When first I looked upon the page that lies before me now;
'Twas mystery all—I had not learned the love of woman's heart,
No meaning to my spirit could its thrilling words impart.
Years fleeted on; the sunny smile had faded from my face,
Upon my brow was graved the sign which pain alone can trace;
Youth still was mine, but not the youth of childhood's laughing day,
Youth still was mine, but early hope and joy had passed away.
Upon my brow was graved the sign which pain alone can trace;
194
Youth still was mine, but early hope and joy had passed away.
O, then no mystery was the page that told Corinna's woe,
Too deeply had my spirit learned such bitter truth to know;
Mine own wild heart! did I not read thy secret sorrow there,
Thy lofty dreams, thy fervent love, thy bliss, and thy despair?
Too deeply had my spirit learned such bitter truth to know;
Mine own wild heart! did I not read thy secret sorrow there,
Thy lofty dreams, thy fervent love, thy bliss, and thy despair?
Feelings that long had wrestled on within my inmost soul,
Thoughts that had ne'er found voice, and dreams that spurned at truth's control,
Love far too pure and deep to pour on aught of mortal mould,
All that my heart so long had hid, Corinna's passion told.
Thoughts that had ne'er found voice, and dreams that spurned at truth's control,
Love far too pure and deep to pour on aught of mortal mould,
All that my heart so long had hid, Corinna's passion told.
O! none but woman's tongue such tales of woman's heart could tell,
Its varied perils when the tides of passion wildly swell,
Its hopes, its fears, its visions wild, its weakness, and its power—
The reed when wooed by zephyr's breath, the oak when tempests lower.
Its varied perils when the tides of passion wildly swell,
Its hopes, its fears, its visions wild, its weakness, and its power—
The reed when wooed by zephyr's breath, the oak when tempests lower.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |