 | The poetical works of Henry Kirke White |  |
[Fanny! upon thy breast I may not lie!]
Fanny! upon thy breast I may not lie!Fanny! thou dost not hear me when I speak!
Where art thou, love?—Around I turn my eye,
And as I turn, the tear is on my cheek.
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Indeed my lonely couch?—Methought the breath
Fanned not her bloodless lip; her eye was cold
And hollow, and the livery of death
Invested her pale forehead. Sainted maid!
My thoughts oft rest with thee in thy cold grave,
Through the long wintry night, when wind and wave
Rock the dark house where thy poor head is laid.
Yet, hush! my fond heart, hush! there is a shore
Of better promise; and I know at last,
When the long sabbath of the tomb is past,
We two shall meet in Christ—to part no more.
| The poetical works of Henry Kirke White | |