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THE SUNBEAM'S LOVE. |
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 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
344
THE SUNBEAM'S LOVE.
A little wild flower, lone and sad,
Was shaded so by leaves above,
The light that made her sisters glad
Denied to her its smile of love.
Was shaded so by leaves above,
The light that made her sisters glad
Denied to her its smile of love.
But once the warmest, sunniest ray
That ever thrill'd a blossom's heart,
Through the dark foliage found its way,
With Love's own soft, beguiling art.
That ever thrill'd a blossom's heart,
Through the dark foliage found its way,
With Love's own soft, beguiling art.
The wild flower blush'd, and smiled, and wept,
But trembling let the rover in;
Till in her breast it softly slept,
Too pure, too blest, for shame or sin.
But trembling let the rover in;
Till in her breast it softly slept,
Too pure, too blest, for shame or sin.
Bloom, beauty, balm, undream'd of yore,
Enrich the blossom's beating heart
And leaves it had not known before
Thrill to that warm, sweet smile—and part.
Enrich the blossom's beating heart
And leaves it had not known before
Thrill to that warm, sweet smile—and part.
345
In soft surprise, it murmur'd low,
“The rose is far more fair than I—
Why do you, darling, love me so?”
And the ray said, “I know not why.”
“The rose is far more fair than I—
Why do you, darling, love me so?”
And the ray said, “I know not why.”
“Nor care I, dear. I only feel
That thou art all I ask to me;
With heaven's light on my wings, I steal
To find my dearer heaven in thee.”
That thou art all I ask to me;
With heaven's light on my wings, I steal
To find my dearer heaven in thee.”
And the glad flower, unquestioning more,
With fond embrace enfolds the ray,
Till, ah! the noon has fled, and o'er
The wildwood fades that Eden day.
With fond embrace enfolds the ray,
Till, ah! the noon has fled, and o'er
The wildwood fades that Eden day.
Recall'd to heaven, the sunbeam flies;
The sorrowing blossom folds its leaves,
And shuts, to hide the tears, its eyes,
And still and lonely dreams and grieves.
The sorrowing blossom folds its leaves,
And shuts, to hide the tears, its eyes,
And still and lonely dreams and grieves.
The stars float calmly through the night,
And smile on nature's frailest child;
She does not heed their holy light—
She loves too well her grief so wild!
And smile on nature's frailest child;
She does not heed their holy light—
She loves too well her grief so wild!
346
The night-breeze coming hears her weep,
And whispers low, “Why mourns my flower?”
Ah! then the blossom feigns to sleep,
And shrinks within her leafy bower.
And whispers low, “Why mourns my flower?”
Ah! then the blossom feigns to sleep,
And shrinks within her leafy bower.
And to herself she sings all night,
“My glorious love, come back to me;
I have no joy, no bloom, no light,
Oh, I am nothing without thee!”
“My glorious love, come back to me;
I have no joy, no bloom, no light,
Oh, I am nothing without thee!”
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |