 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
202
THE WIFE'S SONG.
They told me that, when time had sped on rapid wing away,
Such fervent tenderness as mine must sink by slow decay;
That, springing thus 'mid earth-born cares, love's precious buds would fade;
Such passion flowers were all too frail to bear the world's cold shade.
It may be so with some; my love is like that northern flower
Which blooms in beauty though unnursed by sun, or earth, or shower;
The breath of heaven is all it needs to call it into life,
As heedless of the summer sky as of the tempest's strife.
Such fervent tenderness as mine must sink by slow decay;
That, springing thus 'mid earth-born cares, love's precious buds would fade;
Such passion flowers were all too frail to bear the world's cold shade.
It may be so with some; my love is like that northern flower
Which blooms in beauty though unnursed by sun, or earth, or shower;
The breath of heaven is all it needs to call it into life,
As heedless of the summer sky as of the tempest's strife.
They told me that when days had passed, and found my task the same,
On the Penates' lowly shrine to trim the sacred flame,
And to that humble service bend the spirit that of yore
Within the muses' glorious fane was wont its gifts to pour—
They told me I would spurn the toil, and grieve that I had turned
From the high dreams of fame with which my youthful fancy burned;
They little know that pleasant toil has given my soul new power
To realize the dreams it formed in youth's enchanted hour.
On the Penates' lowly shrine to trim the sacred flame,
And to that humble service bend the spirit that of yore
Within the muses' glorious fane was wont its gifts to pour—
They told me I would spurn the toil, and grieve that I had turned
From the high dreams of fame with which my youthful fancy burned;
They little know that pleasant toil has given my soul new power
To realize the dreams it formed in youth's enchanted hour.
203
They told me that when time had made my bosom's idol seem
Familiar to my daily sight as to my nightly dream,
That charm by charm would be dispelled, and my sick heart would pine
For those high attributes which once it fondly fancied thine;
It may be so with some, but I could tell another tale;
I would but point to thee, and show how fancy's tints may fail,
And teach them that full many a year of wedded love may be
Still marked by all the fervent faith of youth's idolatry.
Familiar to my daily sight as to my nightly dream,
That charm by charm would be dispelled, and my sick heart would pine
For those high attributes which once it fondly fancied thine;
It may be so with some, but I could tell another tale;
I would but point to thee, and show how fancy's tints may fail,
And teach them that full many a year of wedded love may be
Still marked by all the fervent faith of youth's idolatry.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |