 | Prose sketches and poems |  |
SONG.
The day hath passed, love, when I might
Have offered thee this heart of mine,
As one whose yet unclouded light
Was pure, love, pure and bright, as thine:
When, though I gazed on thee, as him
Who gazeth on a distant star,
Thy brilliant eye could not grow dim,
In shame for me, thy worshipper.
Yet still, although it be but shame
To be beloved by such as I,
That love will shed its saddened flame,
Knows no decay, can never die.
Its soul of fire hath no decline;
For rocks check not the swelling river;
And though thou never canst be mine,
I 'm thine, love—thine alone, forever.
Have offered thee this heart of mine,
As one whose yet unclouded light
Was pure, love, pure and bright, as thine:
When, though I gazed on thee, as him
Who gazeth on a distant star,
Thy brilliant eye could not grow dim,
In shame for me, thy worshipper.
Yet still, although it be but shame
To be beloved by such as I,
That love will shed its saddened flame,
Knows no decay, can never die.
Its soul of fire hath no decline;
For rocks check not the swelling river;
And though thou never canst be mine,
I 'm thine, love—thine alone, forever.
| Prose sketches and poems | |