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![]() | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | ![]() |
Would I were any thing that thou dost love!
A flower, a shell, a wavelet, or a cloud—
Aught that might win a moment's soul-look from thee.
To be “a joy for ever” in thy heart,
That were in truth divinest joy to mine:
A low, sweet, haunting Tune, that will not let
Thy memory go, but fondly twines around it,
Pleading and beautiful—for unto thee
Music is life—such life as I would be;—
A Statue, wrought in marble, without stain,
Where one immortal truth embodied lives
Instinct with grace and loveliness;—a Fane,
A fair Ionic temple, growing up,
Light as a lily into the blue air,
To the glad melody of a tuneful thought
In its creator's spirit, where thy gaze
Might never weary—dedicate to thee,
Thy image shrined within it, lone and loved!—
Make me the Flower thou lovest; let me drink
Thy rays, and give them back in bloom and beauty;—
Mould me to grace, to glory, like the Statue;—
Wake for my mind the Music of thine own,
And it shall grow, to that majestic tune,
A temple meet to shrine mine idol in!—
Hold the frail Shell, tinted by love's pure blush,
Unto thy soul, and thou shalt hear within
Tones from its spirit-home;—smile on the Wave,
And it shall flow, free, limpid, glad for ever;—
Shed on the Cloud the splendour of thy being,
And it shall float—a radiant wonder—by thee.
A flower, a shell, a wavelet, or a cloud—
Aught that might win a moment's soul-look from thee.
To be “a joy for ever” in thy heart,
That were in truth divinest joy to mine:
A low, sweet, haunting Tune, that will not let
Thy memory go, but fondly twines around it,
Pleading and beautiful—for unto thee
Music is life—such life as I would be;—
A Statue, wrought in marble, without stain,
Where one immortal truth embodied lives
Instinct with grace and loveliness;—a Fane,
A fair Ionic temple, growing up,
Light as a lily into the blue air,
To the glad melody of a tuneful thought
In its creator's spirit, where thy gaze
52
Thy image shrined within it, lone and loved!—
Make me the Flower thou lovest; let me drink
Thy rays, and give them back in bloom and beauty;—
Mould me to grace, to glory, like the Statue;—
Wake for my mind the Music of thine own,
And it shall grow, to that majestic tune,
A temple meet to shrine mine idol in!—
Hold the frail Shell, tinted by love's pure blush,
Unto thy soul, and thou shalt hear within
Tones from its spirit-home;—smile on the Wave,
And it shall flow, free, limpid, glad for ever;—
Shed on the Cloud the splendour of thy being,
And it shall float—a radiant wonder—by thee.
To love—thy love—so docile I would be,
So pliant, yet inspired, that it should make
A marvel of me, for thy sake, and show
Its proud chef d'œuvre in my harmonious life.
So pliant, yet inspired, that it should make
A marvel of me, for thy sake, and show
Its proud chef d'œuvre in my harmonious life.
![]() | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | ![]() |