The Legend of Genevieve :: :: University of Virginia Library

Bid the cold and callous-hearted
Brood o'er bliss he ne'er imparted:
Let him linger, let him languish,
In his sordid, selfish anguish:
Not a sun his soul shall borrow,
To dispel his night of sorrow;
And a something shall annoy,
With a dread, his dreams of joy.

He knows not the blissful union
Souls partake by soft communion;
He knows not the pleasing sadness,
Less allied to grief than gladness,

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Which the pensive heart is proving,
When its life consists in loving,
As congenial pulses beat
With a mild and mutual heat.

He who can despise thee, woman,
Must be more or less than human;
On his heart a frost is seizing,
In his veins the blood is freezing;
If thou can'st not, what can move it?
But his coldness none will covet,
Not a bosom shall condole
With his poor and paltry soul.

Some may say thine eyes are cheating,
Some may say thy love is fleeting,
Some may say—but I believe not—
Well I know thy smiles deceive not.
There is one, whose face my being
Finds redoubled life in seeing,
Who with seraph smile inspires
Gentle love, and genial fires.

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Fairy is her form of lightness,
Azure is her eye of brightness,
Snowy is her brow, above it
Wreathe the auburn curls that love it,
Sweetly twining, and invading
Rosy cheeks that need not shading;
Blush not at my telling thee,
Oh my sweet—that thou art she!