 | Aonian Hours; And Other Poems |  |
The Vase of Lilies.
There's a feeling of deep and of lonely regret
Will pervade the young heart in the sweetest of hours,
If the canker of dark disappointment should fret,
Or but sully the lightest and least of its flowers;
But e'en at the moment when pleasure falls from us,
And hope's rich dews are swept from the chaplet of spring,
If we see in her scene but a tendril of promise,
We cling to the shoot, and for ever could cling.
Will pervade the young heart in the sweetest of hours,
If the canker of dark disappointment should fret,
Or but sully the lightest and least of its flowers;
But e'en at the moment when pleasure falls from us,
And hope's rich dews are swept from the chaplet of spring,
If we see in her scene but a tendril of promise,
We cling to the shoot, and for ever could cling.
I came in the silence and odour of noon,
To the vale of enchantment when childhood was new;
On the tall tree the woodbine still hung its festoon,
But the sunbeam had been there, and robb'd it of dew.
I came to the bower of the gentle Verduta,
To claim but a glance from the eyes of the fair—
But a gloom and a loneliness mock'd the intruder,
I came—but no gentle Verduta was there.
To the vale of enchantment when childhood was new;
On the tall tree the woodbine still hung its festoon,
But the sunbeam had been there, and robb'd it of dew.
I came to the bower of the gentle Verduta,
To claim but a glance from the eyes of the fair—
But a gloom and a loneliness mock'd the intruder,
I came—but no gentle Verduta was there.
148
Alone, in the delicate whiteness of youth,
A Vase of sweet Lilies stood flourishing nigh,
And I stole from the vase the two fairest, to soothe
My regret o'er the pleasures for ever gone by.
Thy lilies, Verduta, already are faded,
Ah! severed from thine could they otherwise be!
But their bells shall be yet in Love's rosary braided,
And in hours of desertedness whisper of thee.
A Vase of sweet Lilies stood flourishing nigh,
And I stole from the vase the two fairest, to soothe
My regret o'er the pleasures for ever gone by.
Thy lilies, Verduta, already are faded,
Ah! severed from thine could they otherwise be!
But their bells shall be yet in Love's rosary braided,
And in hours of desertedness whisper of thee.
| Aonian Hours; And Other Poems | |