 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
TO A YOUNG LADY.
Could any charm have broke the spell,
That long has chained my humble lyre,
Thy smile had waked the silent shell,
And taught its sweetest notes to swell
With pure poetic fire.
That long has chained my humble lyre,
Thy smile had waked the silent shell,
And taught its sweetest notes to swell
With pure poetic fire.
But, oh! its chords are sleeping still,
And e'en thy charms must plead in vain;
This heart has lost its wonted thrill,
Intruding cares its fervors chill,
And check its votive strain.
And e'en thy charms must plead in vain;
This heart has lost its wonted thrill,
Intruding cares its fervors chill,
And check its votive strain.
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |