 | The lost pleiad ; and other poems |  |
24
SONNET.—MEMORY.
“There is an eloquence in Memory, because it is the nurse of Hope.”—
Bidurer.
As silent burns that everlasting flame
Amid the darkness of the heathen's tomb—
A quenchless light which Time cannot consume—
So, in my heart, unquenchable, the same,
Love's undiminished fire, no age can tame,
Burns ever, starlike, giving tireless light
To thy sweet Memory, drest in saintly white,
Which there lies treasured; while thy precious name,
That fountain whence my inspiration came,—
Like Hesperus among the lights of Heaven—
Burns in the centre of my thoughts, which sit
With twinkling vigils, like the stars of even,
Each for its own life's sake now watching it—
Showing the soul it never can forget.
Amid the darkness of the heathen's tomb—
A quenchless light which Time cannot consume—
So, in my heart, unquenchable, the same,
Love's undiminished fire, no age can tame,
Burns ever, starlike, giving tireless light
To thy sweet Memory, drest in saintly white,
Which there lies treasured; while thy precious name,
That fountain whence my inspiration came,—
Like Hesperus among the lights of Heaven—
Burns in the centre of my thoughts, which sit
With twinkling vigils, like the stars of even,
Each for its own life's sake now watching it—
Showing the soul it never can forget.
New York, May 23d, 1841.
| The lost pleiad ; and other poems | |