 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
LINES ON A PORTRAIT.
I loved thee not; yet mournful thoughts are rushing
Upon my heart while gazing on that face,
And tears unbidden to mine eyes are gushing—
Tears, whose deep source to memory's fount I trace;
Yet why should I lament thy hapless lot?
For thou wert naught to me—I loved thee not.
Upon my heart while gazing on that face,
And tears unbidden to mine eyes are gushing—
Tears, whose deep source to memory's fount I trace;
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For thou wert naught to me—I loved thee not.
I loved thee not; yet intellect was thine,
And lofty aspirations after fame;
For honor in thy soul had found a shrine,
And thou didst hope to win a deathless name;
But thou art dead, unnoticed, and forgot;
Yet what is this to me?—I loved thee not.
And lofty aspirations after fame;
For honor in thy soul had found a shrine,
And thou didst hope to win a deathless name;
But thou art dead, unnoticed, and forgot;
Yet what is this to me?—I loved thee not.
I loved thee not; and hadst thou died in age,
With troops of tender friends around thy bed,
Had love been there thy sufferings to assuage,
Had some kind breast upheld thy aching head,
I had not then remembered thee; no spot
In memory's waste was thine—I loved thee not.
With troops of tender friends around thy bed,
Had love been there thy sufferings to assuage,
Had some kind breast upheld thy aching head,
I had not then remembered thee; no spot
In memory's waste was thine—I loved thee not.
I loved thee not; yet when thy spirit passed
Thus in thy manhood's prime from earth away,
When those thou lovedst forsook thee at the last,
And none beside thee knelt to weep and pray,
My heart did thrill in pity for the lot
Of one so gifted, though I loved thee not.
Thus in thy manhood's prime from earth away,
When those thou lovedst forsook thee at the last,
And none beside thee knelt to weep and pray,
My heart did thrill in pity for the lot
Of one so gifted, though I loved thee not.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |