 | Safie |  |
Despair is poison of the heart!
It rankles in a feeling part;
It blasts the prospects of the mind,
And leaves a dreary waste behind:—
'Tis form'd to flourish in decay,—
And chase the hope of life away!
Oh! it is like that dreadful tree
Which on the barren desart lives,—
And e'en mid desolation thrives,
In horrible solemnity!
Whose boughs upon the infected air,
Spread their dark arms, diseased and bare;—
Whereon reclines, in sullen state,
The mystic form of mystic fate;
Whose branches frame the wither'd wreath,
That crowns the fleshless brow of death!—
And as the poison'd breezes wave,
Scatter around that deadly breath,
That whispers of the grave!
It rankles in a feeling part;
It blasts the prospects of the mind,
And leaves a dreary waste behind:—
55
And chase the hope of life away!
Oh! it is like that dreadful tree
Which on the barren desart lives,—
And e'en mid desolation thrives,
In horrible solemnity!
Whose boughs upon the infected air,
Spread their dark arms, diseased and bare;—
Whereon reclines, in sullen state,
The mystic form of mystic fate;
Whose branches frame the wither'd wreath,
That crowns the fleshless brow of death!—
And as the poison'd breezes wave,
Scatter around that deadly breath,
That whispers of the grave!
| Safie | |