 | Lyrical and other poems |  |
57
I COME TO THEE,
I come to thee, thou smil'st again,
With lips so rosy, red,
That sure it must be poignant pain,
When I have from thee fled!
I fly from thee—the big drops stand
Within those spheres of light;
Yet cruel! thou dost still command,
That I shall take my flight.
With lips so rosy, red,
That sure it must be poignant pain,
When I have from thee fled!
I fly from thee—the big drops stand
Within those spheres of light;
Yet cruel! thou dost still command,
That I shall take my flight.
Which shall I choose—to mock thy word,
That comes in stammer'd tone,
As if reluctant—it implored,
To leave the task alone?
Or, shall I watch thy bosoms swell,
That seems in accents dear
To say, “whate'er my tongue may tell,
Oh! do not, do not hear.”
That comes in stammer'd tone,
As if reluctant—it implored,
To leave the task alone?
Or, shall I watch thy bosoms swell,
That seems in accents dear
To say, “whate'er my tongue may tell,
Oh! do not, do not hear.”
| Lyrical and other poems | |