 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
V. THEY NEVER CAN KNOW THAT HEART.
Oh! they never can know that heart of thine,
Who dare accuse thee of flirtation!
They might as well say that the stars, which shine
In the light of their joy o'er creation,
Are flirting with every wild wave in which lies
One beam of the glory that kindles the skies.
Who dare accuse thee of flirtation!
They might as well say that the stars, which shine
In the light of their joy o'er creation,
Are flirting with every wild wave in which lies
One beam of the glory that kindles the skies.
Smile on, then, undimm'd in your beauty and grace!
Too well e'er to doubt, love, we know you;—
And shed, from your heaven, the light of your face,
Where the waves chase each other below you;
For none can e'er deem it your shame or your sin,
That each wave holds your star-image smiling within.
Too well e'er to doubt, love, we know you;—
And shed, from your heaven, the light of your face,
Where the waves chase each other below you;
For none can e'er deem it your shame or your sin,
That each wave holds your star-image smiling within.
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |