 | The Sorrows of Rosalie |  |
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TO LORD HOLLAND.
Taught in the dawning of life's joyous yearsTo love, admire, and reverence thy name,
Though of youth's feelings few remain the same;
And the dim vista of its hopes and fears
Memory hath blotted out, with silent tears:—
Still in its brightness, even as then it came,
Linked with the half-remembered tales of fame:
That word before my darkened soul appears,
Bringing back lips that speak and smile no more.
Spurn not my offering, then, from that bright shrine
Where hope would place it; but for those of yore
Permit her name, who trembles o'er each line,
In its oblivion to be shadowed o'er
By the bright happy gloriousness of—Thine!
| The Sorrows of Rosalie | |