Madmoments: or First Verseattempts By a Bornnatural. Addressed to the Lightheaded of Society at Large, by Henry Ellison |
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TO A. P. |
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 | Madmoments: or First Verseattempts |  |
TO A. P.
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And wilt thou too forget me, Love,Or deem of me but as of one
Whose Fate with thine no more is wove,
As one whom henceforth thou wouldst shun?
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Our Vows were Summervows 'tis true,Their Links were wove in dreaming Youth,
Yet Love the golden Metal drew
Fresh from the glowing Forge of Truth.
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What tho' rude Time should wear or tineThe mere Gloss at the Surface, still
The genuine Substance 'neath will shine,
Tested, but changed not by Life's Ill!
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Upon my young, unwithered HeartLove shed his first, divinest Dews,
And all Life's Honey set apart
Was tinged and flavored by his Hues.
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And wouldst thou then unkindly turnThose Sweets to Bitterness and Strife,
Or blight a Heart that still must yearn
With Love towards thee in Death and Life?
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I dare not, cannot, will not dreamThat thy pure Heart has selfish grown,
That from thy Brow a single Beam
Of Immortality is flown.
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They tell me thou art changed too, Love,That Care sits on thy oncefair Brow,
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With Pity at another's Woe;
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Yet robbed of all that made thee bright,Of every youthful Charm and Hue,
Thou art but dearer to my Sight,
Thy Griefs shall make me but more true.
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For in the Tablet of my HeartThy Form still blooms all fresh and fair,
I see not what in Time thon art,
But what thou wert when imaged there.
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Thus on the Canvass some fair FaceStill smiles undimmed, unfadingly,
When the Original no Trace
Retains to tell of Days gone by.
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The Love of two pure Hearts is likeA Tune on some sweet Instrument,
'Tis true on different Chords we strike,
But Harmony is in Sounds blent.
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The Moment they have left the StringsThe Tones are mingled soft in Air,
And blent for aye, like kindred Things
Made each for each, one Being share.
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Thus shall our Hearts form but one Sound,One Tune, tho'in a varying key,
In Joy and Sorrow alike found
Still linked in faultless Harmony.
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And when the Heartstrings cease to beat,The Magicchords, the Spiritslyre,
Our Souls shall seek their primal Seat,
And in eternal Love respire!
| Madmoments: or First Verseattempts | |