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THE VIOLET AND THE STAR. |
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 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
325
THE VIOLET AND THE STAR.
Shall I tell what the Violet said to the Star,
While she gazed through her tears on his beauty afar?
She sang, but her singing was only a sigh,
And nobody heard it, but Heaven, Love, and I!—
A sigh full of fragrance and feeling, it stole
Through the stillness, up, up, to the star's beaming soul.
While she gazed through her tears on his beauty afar?
She sang, but her singing was only a sigh,
And nobody heard it, but Heaven, Love, and I!—
A sigh full of fragrance and feeling, it stole
Through the stillness, up, up, to the star's beaming soul.
She sang—“Thou art glowing with glory and might,
And I'm but a flower, frail, lowly, and light;
I ask not thy pity, I seek not thy smile;
I ask but to worship thy beauty a while;—
To sigh to thee—sing to thee—bloom for thine eye,
And when thou art weary to bless thee and die!”
And I'm but a flower, frail, lowly, and light;
I ask not thy pity, I seek not thy smile;
I ask but to worship thy beauty a while;—
To sigh to thee—sing to thee—bloom for thine eye,
And when thou art weary to bless thee and die!”
Shall I tell what the Star to the Violet said,
While ashamed 'neath his love-look, she hung her young head?
He sang—but his singing was only a ray,
And none but the flower and I heard the dear lay;
How it thrill'd, as it fell, in its melody clear,
Through the little heart, heaving with rapture and fear!
While ashamed 'neath his love-look, she hung her young head?
He sang—but his singing was only a ray,
And none but the flower and I heard the dear lay;
How it thrill'd, as it fell, in its melody clear,
Through the little heart, heaving with rapture and fear!
326
Ah! no, love! I dare not! too tender, too pure,
For me to betray were the words he said to her;
But as she lay listening that low lullaby,
A smile lit the tear in the timid flower's eye;
And when death had stolen her beauty and bloom,
The ray came again to illumine her tomb!
For me to betray were the words he said to her;
But as she lay listening that low lullaby,
A smile lit the tear in the timid flower's eye;
And when death had stolen her beauty and bloom,
The ray came again to illumine her tomb!
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |