 | The Poems of Thomas Davis |  |
58
A PLEA FOR LOVE.
I
The summer brook flows in the bed,The winter torrent tore asunder;
The sky-lark's gentle wings are spread,
Where walk the lightning and the thunder:
And thus you'll find the sternest soul
The gayest tenderness concealing;
And minds, that seem to mock control,
Are ordered by some fairy feeling.
II
Then, maiden! start not from the handThat's hardened by the swaying sabre—
The pulse beneath may be as bland
As evening after day of labour:
And, maiden! start not from the brow
That thought has knit, and passion darkened—
In twilight hours, 'neath forest bough,
The tenderest tales are often hearkened.
| The Poems of Thomas Davis | |