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Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | ||
400
XLVI. HAD I ESSAYED, WITH WANTON ART.
Had I essay'd, with wanton art,
To lure you and ensnare your heart,
Your falsehood would but justice be,
That now is treacherous wrong to me;
To lure you and ensnare your heart,
Your falsehood would but justice be,
That now is treacherous wrong to me;
But well you know I shrank, in fear,
From tones that grew too deeply dear,
And trembled with prophetic dread
When Passion warm'd the words you said.
From tones that grew too deeply dear,
And trembled with prophetic dread
When Passion warm'd the words you said.
And you recall my shame and awe
When first your burning dream I saw,
And how I turn'd, nor dared to brook
The soul of fire that lit your look;
When first your burning dream I saw,
And how I turn'd, nor dared to brook
The soul of fire that lit your look;
And how I struggled, day by day,
With love that won too wild a sway;
And how, at last, before his shrine
My very soul I dared resign.
With love that won too wild a sway;
And how, at last, before his shrine
My very soul I dared resign.
And you betray me! You, for whom
I braved that saddest, darkest doom!
Oh, God! take hence thy child, nor spare!
Thy wrath, not his, my heart may bear!
I braved that saddest, darkest doom!
Oh, God! take hence thy child, nor spare!
Thy wrath, not his, my heart may bear!
Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | ||