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 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
XXXIV. THIS MORN, WHEN AURORA ABOVE THE LAKE BENT.
This morn, when Aurora above the lake bent, love,
To tie up the braids of her pale, golden hair,
While the gleam of each tress to its small ripples lent, love,
Look'd just like a star broke and fallen in there;
To tie up the braids of her pale, golden hair,
While the gleam of each tress to its small ripples lent, love,
Look'd just like a star broke and fallen in there;
Away from their banquet the fairies I frighten'd,
For I shook from a wet spray a shower-bath of dew,
And their luminous winglets all quiver'd and lighten'd
Like fire-flies around me, as swiftly they flew.
For I shook from a wet spray a shower-bath of dew,
And their luminous winglets all quiver'd and lighten'd
Like fire-flies around me, as swiftly they flew.
Their cut-diamond dinner-set with them departed;
But one painted vase, full of lilies, was left,—
Their stateliest treasure—forgot when they started—
I clasp'd it and ran—oh! forgive me the theft!
But one painted vase, full of lilies, was left,—
Their stateliest treasure—forgot when they started—
I clasp'd it and ran—oh! forgive me the theft!
And take it, dear maiden,—and while you are stealing
The sigh that my fairy bouquet breathes for you,
Remember the flowers of Fancy and Feeling
We've twined in bright hours too fleet and too few!
The sigh that my fairy bouquet breathes for you,
Remember the flowers of Fancy and Feeling
We've twined in bright hours too fleet and too few!
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |