 | [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet |  |
127
TO SARAH
Thou once didst doubt, my lovely one,
My faith and truth as though they were
Like wintry clouds unshone upon
By love, which once was flashing there—
But all was cold within my breast,
As is the frozen lake at rest.
My faith and truth as though they were
Like wintry clouds unshone upon
By love, which once was flashing there—
But all was cold within my breast,
As is the frozen lake at rest.
But no reproach—nay, not a sigh,
Was borne upon thy honied breath;
A lone despair was in thine eye,
Foretelling all of woe, of death.
Thy frame was bending as the rose
Droops at a summer evening's close.
Was borne upon thy honied breath;
A lone despair was in thine eye,
Foretelling all of woe, of death.
Thy frame was bending as the rose
Droops at a summer evening's close.
And couldst thou smile, aye, when the dart
Was quivering in thy fond heart's blood:
Oh, couldst thou see thy dreams depart,
Chased by my black ingratitude;
And yet love on in tenderness,
The author of thy deep distress.
Was quivering in thy fond heart's blood:
Oh, couldst thou see thy dreams depart,
Chased by my black ingratitude;
And yet love on in tenderness,
The author of thy deep distress.
Yet thou art undeceived at last,
For sunny days again are thine;
Those clouds that threatened us are past,
And thou, pure lovely one, art mine.
Come care—the many wrinkled brow
Has naught of peril for me now.
For sunny days again are thine;
Those clouds that threatened us are past,
And thou, pure lovely one, art mine.
Come care—the many wrinkled brow
Has naught of peril for me now.
Fair one—whose soul is purity,
Looks on this world, as though 'twere given,
By a behest of Deity,
But as a resting place toward heaven—
What offering worthy of thy shrine,
Could come from this poor heart of mine.
Looks on this world, as though 'twere given,
By a behest of Deity,
But as a resting place toward heaven—
What offering worthy of thy shrine,
Could come from this poor heart of mine.
There is a deep response—it wells
From that bright fount, that bubbling sea,
Of Conscience, which within me smiles
And speaks,—“Let me be worthy thee.”
From that bright fount, that bubbling sea,
Of Conscience, which within me smiles
And speaks,—“Let me be worthy thee.”
Boston Statesman, March 27, 1827
| [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet | |