 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
253
A DEAF GIRL RESTORED.
The world—the beautiful world around,
A still, bright dream, stole silently by;
For a viewless fetter my senses bound,
And life—my life was one wistful sigh!
A still, bright dream, stole silently by;
For a viewless fetter my senses bound,
And life—my life was one wistful sigh!
The hand of pity and wondrous skill
Has riven for ever that fearful chain,
And joy—wild, fathomless joy doth fill
My beating heart and my startled brain!
Has riven for ever that fearful chain,
And joy—wild, fathomless joy doth fill
My beating heart and my startled brain!
A world of melody wakes around,
Each leaf of the tree has its tremulous tone,
And the rippling rivulet's lullaby sound,
And the wood-bird's warble are all mine own!
Each leaf of the tree has its tremulous tone,
And the rippling rivulet's lullaby sound,
And the wood-bird's warble are all mine own!
But nothing—oh! nothing that I have heard,
Not the lay of the lark, nor the coo of the dove,
Can match, with its music, one fond, sweet word,
That thrills to my soul, from the lips I love!
Not the lay of the lark, nor the coo of the dove,
Can match, with its music, one fond, sweet word,
That thrills to my soul, from the lips I love!
254
I dream'd of melody long before,
My yearning senses were yet unseal'd;
I tried to fancy it o'er and o'er,
And thought its meaning at last reveal'd;—
My yearning senses were yet unseal'd;
I tried to fancy it o'er and o'er,
And thought its meaning at last reveal'd;—
For suddenly down through a showery mist,
A rainbow stole with its shining span;
And e'en while the flowers its soft feet kiss'd,
I read—“'Tis a promise from God to man!”
A rainbow stole with its shining span;
And e'en while the flowers its soft feet kiss'd,
I read—“'Tis a promise from God to man!”
A promise? its glory had language then!
There was meaning and truth in each radiant line!
And I look'd on the heavenly band again,
To trace those letters of love divine.
There was meaning and truth in each radiant line!
And I look'd on the heavenly band again,
To trace those letters of love divine.
Ah, no! they were but to be felt, not read,
And when its soft colours were blent in the sun,
And one rich hue on the scene was shed,
I imagined that music and light were one!
And when its soft colours were blent in the sun,
And one rich hue on the scene was shed,
I imagined that music and light were one!
Each tint, I thought, is an angel's tone,
And blending above us in chorus sweet,
With the light of creation its hymn goes on,
As the quivering colours in melody meet!
And blending above us in chorus sweet,
With the light of creation its hymn goes on,
As the quivering colours in melody meet!
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |