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Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | ||
411
LVI. I KNOW THAT RESTLESS HEART OF THINE.
I know that restless heart of thine:
Even now it flutters to be free,
To rove where fairer flowers twine
The rosy wreath of love for thee.
Even now it flutters to be free,
To rove where fairer flowers twine
The rosy wreath of love for thee.
No longer I the wings restrain
Whose lightest wave my heart could thrill;
But, tangled by a golden chain,
Thy sordid spirit lingers still.
Whose lightest wave my heart could thrill;
But, tangled by a golden chain,
Thy sordid spirit lingers still.
Away! I will not bind thee thus!
My burning soul was naught to thee;
Its rapturous dreams, its truth, its trust,
All wasted—all! Away! thou'rt free.
My burning soul was naught to thee;
Its rapturous dreams, its truth, its trust,
All wasted—all! Away! thou'rt free.
Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | ||