 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
TO ---.
A strain of the heart's music! yet one more,
Though it be low and broken in its tone,
And blended with the old year's dying moan,
For thee, beloved, I pour.
Though it be low and broken in its tone,
And blended with the old year's dying moan,
For thee, beloved, I pour.
A strain of the heart's music, full of love,
Tender and grateful,—love the tried and true;
Yet mingled with a touch of sadness too,
Like voice of turtle-dove.
Tender and grateful,—love the tried and true;
Yet mingled with a touch of sadness too,
Like voice of turtle-dove.
For past is now life's glad and joyous spring,
When every breeze my busy pulses stirred,
And my heart caroled like a forest bird,
Rising on new-plumed wing.
When every breeze my busy pulses stirred,
And my heart caroled like a forest bird,
Rising on new-plumed wing.
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Now through life's summer-time we journey on,
Bearing the heat and burden of the day,
Finding, at every footstep of the way,
Some loved companion gone.
Bearing the heat and burden of the day,
Finding, at every footstep of the way,
Some loved companion gone.
Hope weaves no more her wild fantastic measure,
But wraps herself in Memory's mantle gray,
And chants with quiet voice Truth's simple lay
Of mingled pain and pleasure.
But wraps herself in Memory's mantle gray,
And chants with quiet voice Truth's simple lay
Of mingled pain and pleasure.
Yet in my bosom joy doth still abide,
Aye, joy the purest earth has ever proved;
For am I not still loving and beloved?
Still, dear one, at thy side?
Aye, joy the purest earth has ever proved;
For am I not still loving and beloved?
Still, dear one, at thy side?
The happiness we have together known,
The bitter tears we have together shed,
The gentle memories of our blessed dead,
Cherished by us alone,—
The bitter tears we have together shed,
The gentle memories of our blessed dead,
Cherished by us alone,—
These are the links that bind our wedded hearts,
These are the thoughts that make me love thee more,
As years, like spent waves, die upon life's shore,
And youth depart.
These are the thoughts that make me love thee more,
As years, like spent waves, die upon life's shore,
And youth depart.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |