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 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
XXVI. NAY, COME NOT TO ME.
Nay, come not to me, if you sigh for the splendour
That 'neath the lash lightens, in Beauty's blue eye:
I have naught but affection true, timid, and tender;
If this be not dear to you—all to you—fly.
That 'neath the lash lightens, in Beauty's blue eye:
I have naught but affection true, timid, and tender;
If this be not dear to you—all to you—fly.
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Ah! seek not my side, if the grace of a ringlet,
That goldenly floats, too beguiling can be;
A love such as yours is, can ne'er want a winglet—
Go wave it o'er others, but come not to me.
That goldenly floats, too beguiling can be;
A love such as yours is, can ne'er want a winglet—
Go wave it o'er others, but come not to me.
Oh! come not to me, if you watch the glow stealing
O'er Beauty, like roselight of morning on snow:
No bloom warms my cheek, save the wild rose of Feeling;
If this be not dear to you—all to you—go!
O'er Beauty, like roselight of morning on snow:
No bloom warms my cheek, save the wild rose of Feeling;
If this be not dear to you—all to you—go!
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |