 | The undying one, and other poems |  |
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Of forms which in the quiet grave lay sleeping;
Of eyes which death had stripp'd of all their rays,
And weary life had quench'd with bitter weeping:
Dreams of the days when, human still, my heart
Refused to feel immortal, and kept clinging
To transient joys which came and did depart
As fresh flowers wither, which young hands are flinging.
Dreams of the days I loved, and was beloved—
When some young heart for me its sighs was giving,
And fond lips murmur'd forth the vow that proved
Its truth in death, its tenderness when living:
And dreaming thus, I sigh'd. Answering, there came
A deep, low, tremulous sob, which thrill'd my frame.
A moment, that young form shrunk back abash'd
At its own feelings; and all vainly dash'd
The tear aside, which speedily return'd
To quench the cheek where fleeting blushes burn'd.
A moment, while I sought her fears to stay,
The timid girl in silence shrank away—
A moment, from my grasp her hand withdrew—
A moment, hid her features from my view—
Then rising, sank with tears upon my breast,
Her struggles and her love at once confess'd.
| The undying one, and other poems | |