 | Poems |  |
HAD I A POET'S MIGHTY POWER.
Had I a Poet's mighty power,
How would I joy to make your name
The people's thought through every hour,
A sound the sweetest known to fame!
To every fleeting charm I'd give
Existence that should time defy;
And in a nation's songs should live
Our love in words that never die.
How would I joy to make your name
The people's thought through every hour,
A sound the sweetest known to fame!
To every fleeting charm I'd give
Existence that should time defy;
And in a nation's songs should live
Our love in words that never die.
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And O, were mine the painter's art,
From every form my pencil drew,
In still immortal youth should start
Some charm—some memory of you;
That beauty, by my canvas caught,
The baffled might of time should scorn,
Unknowing change or age, the thought—
The awe of races yet unborn.
From every form my pencil drew,
In still immortal youth should start
Some charm—some memory of you;
That beauty, by my canvas caught,
The baffled might of time should scorn,
Unknowing change or age, the thought—
The awe of races yet unborn.
Yet, love, who cares? not you, I know;
This hour at least is all our own;
For this the future we'll forego:
How blest to live for this alone!
Can fame, with its eternal fuss,
One moment such as this restore!
Love brims the cup of life for us;
Nor you, nor I, shall ask for more.
This hour at least is all our own;
For this the future we'll forego:
How blest to live for this alone!
Can fame, with its eternal fuss,
One moment such as this restore!
Love brims the cup of life for us;
Nor you, nor I, shall ask for more.
| Poems | |