 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
SONNET.
How are men worn with heaviness of heart,And wasted with fierce turmoil of the soul!
Surge after surge our passions wildly roll,
Sweeping o'er each sweet hope till life depart.
Earth holds no balsam for the bitter smart
Of feelings wounded as by insect stings,
Of instincts crushed beneath earth's baser things,
And tortured till they learn the torturer's art.
Fame has no clarion note to drown the cry
That from our nature's anguished depths comes up!
Love—alas! from Love's empoisoned cup
We drink the honeyed draught by which we die.
O God of mercy! bid this tumult cease:
Thy hand alone can shed the dews of holy peace.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |