 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
HIS IDEAL.
He has waited so long—for a thousand of years,
If we count by the heartbeats—to see her,
His soul big with hope and his eyes filled with tears,
And though he was bound by the fetters of fears,
He never had yearned to be freer.
If we count by the heartbeats—to see her,
His soul big with hope and his eyes filled with tears,
And though he was bound by the fetters of fears,
He never had yearned to be freer.
He remembers her well as she came to his mind,
In her young maiden beauty and glory;
Her blush and her smile and her sympathy kind,
To his merits keen-sighted, to weaknesses blind,
And listening well pleased to his story.
In her young maiden beauty and glory;
Her blush and her smile and her sympathy kind,
To his merits keen-sighted, to weaknesses blind,
And listening well pleased to his story.
He said she would come—how hope genders a lie,
And deceives itself thus—and caress him!
Some day in the May of the sweet by and by,
When youth rose to manhood and passion ran high,
To yield to his wooing and bless him.
And deceives itself thus—and caress him!
Some day in the May of the sweet by and by,
When youth rose to manhood and passion ran high,
To yield to his wooing and bless him.
571
Years passed, seasons followed each other, and time
Dropped its snows on the head growing older;
She came not for prose and she came not for rhyme,
She came not in age as she came not at prime;
In the flesh he may never behold her.
Dropped its snows on the head growing older;
She came not for prose and she came not for rhyme,
She came not in age as she came not at prime;
In the flesh he may never behold her.
Ah! delicate creature, with tresses of gold,
So supreme in her grace and her beauty,
He longs in his arms her lithe form to enfold,
He longs her bright raiment to truly behold,
Perfection from head-dress to shoe-tie.
So supreme in her grace and her beauty,
He longs in his arms her lithe form to enfold,
He longs her bright raiment to truly behold,
Perfection from head-dress to shoe-tie.
But still she eludes him. Another, perchance,
Has won one he thought his own only;
And there he remains, half in waking, half trance,
Shivering over the embers of dying romance,
A bachelor, withered and lonely.
Has won one he thought his own only;
And there he remains, half in waking, half trance,
Shivering over the embers of dying romance,
A bachelor, withered and lonely.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |