 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
173
THE SILENT CONFESSION.
TO A LADY, WHO ASKED THE AUTHOR IF HE COULD INTERPRET A BLUSH THAT HE HAD NOTED.
Oh yes, 'twas a fervor of feeling,
That gushed like a stream from the heart,
And flew through the pulses, revealing
What language could never impart.
It gave to that frame an emotion,
Which sweetly the feeling confessed;
A zephyr might breathe on the ocean,
And wake such a swell on its breast.
That gushed like a stream from the heart,
And flew through the pulses, revealing
What language could never impart.
It gave to that frame an emotion,
Which sweetly the feeling confessed;
A zephyr might breathe on the ocean,
And wake such a swell on its breast.
The glow of thy visage expressed it,
'T was borne to my heart in a sigh;
An eloquent silence confessed it,
It spoke in the glance of thine eye.
In short, 't was the soul of my treasure,
Aroused in alarm from its sleep,
That flew to those windows of azure,
And lifted their curtains to peep.
'T was borne to my heart in a sigh;
An eloquent silence confessed it,
It spoke in the glance of thine eye.
In short, 't was the soul of my treasure,
Aroused in alarm from its sleep,
That flew to those windows of azure,
And lifted their curtains to peep.
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |