 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
THE BETROTHED.
I have acted as they bid me,
He said that he was bless'd,
And the sweet seal of betrothal
On my forehead has been press'd;
But my heart gave back no echo
To the rapture of his bliss,
And the hand he clasped so fondly
Was less tremulous than his.
He said that he was bless'd,
And the sweet seal of betrothal
On my forehead has been press'd;
But my heart gave back no echo
To the rapture of his bliss,
And the hand he clasped so fondly
Was less tremulous than his.
They praise his lordly beauty,
And I know that he is fair—
Oh, I always loved the color
Of his sunny eyes and hair;
And though my bosom may have held
A happier heart than now,
I have told him that I love him,
And I cannot break the vow.
And I know that he is fair—
Oh, I always loved the color
Of his sunny eyes and hair;
And though my bosom may have held
A happier heart than now,
I have told him that I love him,
And I cannot break the vow.
285
He called me the fair lady
Of a castle o'er the seas,
And I thought about a cottage
Nestled down among the trees;
And when my cheek beneath his lip
Blushed not nor turned aside,
I thought how once a lighter kiss
Had left it crimson-dyed.
Of a castle o'er the seas,
And I thought about a cottage
Nestled down among the trees;
And when my cheek beneath his lip
Blushed not nor turned aside,
I thought how once a lighter kiss
Had left it crimson-dyed.
What care I for the breathing
Of wind-harps among the vines?
I better love the swinging
Of the sleepy mountain pines,
And to track the timid rabbit
In the snow shower as I list,
Than to ride his coal-black hunter
With the hawk upon my wrist.
Of wind-harps among the vines?
I better love the swinging
Of the sleepy mountain pines,
And to track the timid rabbit
In the snow shower as I list,
Than to ride his coal-black hunter
With the hawk upon my wrist.
Fain would I leave the grandeur
Of the oaken-shadowed lawns,
And the dimly stretching forest,
Where the red roe leads her fawns,
To gather the blue thistle
And the fennel's yellow bloom,
Where frowning turrets cumber not
The path with gorgeous gloom.
Of the oaken-shadowed lawns,
And the dimly stretching forest,
Where the red roe leads her fawns,
To gather the blue thistle
And the fennel's yellow bloom,
Where frowning turrets cumber not
The path with gorgeous gloom.
Let them wreathe the bridal roses
With my tresses as they may—
There are phantoms in my bosom
That I cannot keep away;
To my heart, as to a banquet,
They are crowding pale and dread,
But I told him that I loved him,
And it cannot be unsaid.
With my tresses as they may—
There are phantoms in my bosom
That I cannot keep away;
To my heart, as to a banquet,
They are crowding pale and dread,
But I told him that I loved him,
And it cannot be unsaid.
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |