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 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
205
CHRISTABEL.
Sick at heart, I have retreated
From the dance to muse alone
In this bower where, often seated
By thy side, the hours have flown.
Here, in accents sweetly thrilling,
Words of magic import fell
From thy lip, my bosom filling
With mad transport, Christabel!
From the dance to muse alone
In this bower where, often seated
By thy side, the hours have flown.
Here, in accents sweetly thrilling,
Words of magic import fell
From thy lip, my bosom filling
With mad transport, Christabel!
Thou wilt live, with brow unclouded
And a look like summer skies,
When thy victim, early shrouded,
In his voiceless dwelling lies.
Blossoms on the floor lie faded,
Brought by me from wood and dell,
That were yester-morning braided
With thy locks, false Christabel!
And a look like summer skies,
When thy victim, early shrouded,
In his voiceless dwelling lies.
Blossoms on the floor lie faded,
Brought by me from wood and dell,
That were yester-morning braided
With thy locks, false Christabel!
Nightly here thy ardent lover,
While swift time unnoted fled,
From yon book with gilded cover,
Tales of burning passion read.
Long within the deep recesses
Of my breaking heart, will dwell
(Though thy smile another blesses)
Our last parting, Christabel!
While swift time unnoted fled,
From yon book with gilded cover,
Tales of burning passion read.
Long within the deep recesses
Of my breaking heart, will dwell
(Though thy smile another blesses)
Our last parting, Christabel!
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |