 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
296
THE INCONSTANT.
Pledge to thy lady; aye, fill high the bowl
To the Cynthia that rules o'er the tides of thy soul,—
To her whose light hand wanders over thy heart,
Bringing out the rich music its chords can impart;
Aye, drink to her now, lest a new love awake,
Ere thy lip meets the wine bead that swells but to break.
To the Cynthia that rules o'er the tides of thy soul,—
To her whose light hand wanders over thy heart,
Bringing out the rich music its chords can impart;
Aye, drink to her now, lest a new love awake,
Ere thy lip meets the wine bead that swells but to break.
Pledge to thy lady, but breathe not her name;
That draught quenched already a fast-waning flame;
Ere next at the banquet thou pourest the red wine,
Thy love will be pilgrim at some newer shrine;
Another will weave thee a fresher rose-chain,
To be worn a brief moment, then flung off again.
That draught quenched already a fast-waning flame;
Ere next at the banquet thou pourest the red wine,
Thy love will be pilgrim at some newer shrine;
Another will weave thee a fresher rose-chain,
To be worn a brief moment, then flung off again.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |