 | Poems and Songs by E. H. B. [i.e. E. H. Bickersteth] |  |
178
TO THOUGHT.
I may not give to thee
One hour again;
The past is not for me,
It burns my brain.
One hour again;
The past is not for me,
It burns my brain.
Thy haunts are treasuries now
I may not see;
Dark cypress binds my brow,
The willow tree.
I may not see;
Dark cypress binds my brow,
The willow tree.
And yet I linger here,
With thee would stay;
Thy shrine! receive my tear,
My parting lay.
With thee would stay;
Thy shrine! receive my tear,
My parting lay.
Time wings his flight along
O'er memory's glass;
Years given to mirth and song
Too quickly pass.
O'er memory's glass;
Years given to mirth and song
Too quickly pass.
179
Few—few—how few my lot!
Like early flowers,
Which blow and are forgot
Mid summer bowers.
Like early flowers,
Which blow and are forgot
Mid summer bowers.
My infant hopes and joys,
Too bright—too brief—
I flung with childhood's toys,
To nurse my grief.
Too bright—too brief—
I flung with childhood's toys,
To nurse my grief.
And what my riper years—
An aching breast,
Cradled by hopes and fears,
Still asking rest.
An aching breast,
Cradled by hopes and fears,
Still asking rest.
Farewell!—a long farewell!
Pale thought,—we part—
Oblivion's waters swell
Around my heart.
Pale thought,—we part—
Oblivion's waters swell
Around my heart.
| Poems and Songs by E. H. B. [i.e. E. H. Bickersteth] | |