 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
352
HOPE.
Sweet Hope! dear Hope! dear beautiful Hope!”
I heard a lovely lady say,
“I have not seen your winsome face,
This many, many a day!
I heard a lovely lady say,
“I have not seen your winsome face,
This many, many a day!
“You sing to others, all day long,
With childlike, tireless, lightsome glee,
Some sweet romance, or joyant song,—
You never sing to me!
With childlike, tireless, lightsome glee,
Some sweet romance, or joyant song,—
You never sing to me!
“You bring to others flowers of spring,
The fair, the fresh, the richly free,—
To me no blooming gift you bring—
Have you no flower for me?
The fair, the fresh, the richly free,—
To me no blooming gift you bring—
Have you no flower for me?
“Have you no simplest wild-flower sweet?
Not one—no violet pure and dear?
To bless with balm the cypress wreath
On Love's untimely bier?”
Not one—no violet pure and dear?
To bless with balm the cypress wreath
On Love's untimely bier?”
353
Far up, as if at heaven's own gate,
I heard Hope's silver voice reply,
“Love is not dead—within my arms,
I've borne him to the sky!”
I heard Hope's silver voice reply,
“Love is not dead—within my arms,
I've borne him to the sky!”
And on the lady's breast there fell,
By Hope's invisible hand dropp'd down,
A flower of light—an asphodel,
From Love's immortal crown.
By Hope's invisible hand dropp'd down,
A flower of light—an asphodel,
From Love's immortal crown.
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |