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Forest buds, from the woods of Maine

Allen, Elizabeth Akers (1832-1911)

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TO ALL WHO LOVE ME.
  
ADA.
  
MAY.
  
I LOVE THEE.
  
BY THE RIVER-SIDE.
  
A JUNE SHOWER.
  
DROWNED.
  
THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE.
  
THE FOREST.
  
THE SPRING BY THE CHERRY TREE.
  
FLOWN.
  
THE ANSWERED PRAYER.
  
WINTER.
  
FROST-PICTURES.
  
NO MORE.
  
THE HOUSEHOLD SAINT.
  
THIS MORNING.
  
YESTERDAY.
  
THE CHEERFUL HEART.
  
NOVEMBER.
  
FLORENCE'S BIRTH-DAY.
  
MARCH.
  
CLOVER BLOSSOMS.
  
TO ONE DEPARTED.
  
TWO.
  
TWENTY-ONE.
  
A DRY DITTY.
  
THE BENT OF THE TWIG.
  
THE WHITE DOVE.
  
A LULLABY.
  
THY BLESSING.
  
THE SUNKEN ROCK.
  
THE UNBIDDEN GUEST.
  
TWENTY-TWO.
  
MAGIC MIRRORS.
  
THE HAUNTED RIVER.
  
CHARMED.
  
WHERE CHARLIE DIED.
  
THE MINSTREL.
  
DANDELIONS.
  
THE HAND IN MINE.
  
AGAIN.
  
MY WORLD.
  
RESIGNATION.
  
BETTER THAN BEAUTY.
  
SEVENTEEN.
  
“THE GOOD TIME COMING.”
  
ALLIE.
  
ONE NIGHT.
  
“TRUE LOVE CAN NE'ER FORGET.”
  
TO MY NAMESAKE.
  
TO A SINGER.
  
TO ONE OF LITTLE FAITH.
  
TWICE-TOLD.
  
A PORTRAIT.
  
MY WIFE AND CHILD.
  
RE-UNITED.
  
TO-DAY.
  
IMPARTIALITY.
  
BOTH SIDES OF THE QUESTION.
  
THE LIVING.
  
LET ME IN.
  
TO AN IDEAL.
  
OF ONE BELOVED.
  
ALMOST AN ANGEL.
  
THE BROKEN HOME.
  
THE PANTRY.
  
MY NAME,
  
YOU AND ME.
  
OUR AUTUMN.
  
MY BABIES.
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A BRACE OF SONNETS.
  
EVELYN.
  
THE AWAKENING.
  
IN VAIN.
  
STREET MUSIC.
  
THE APRIL BREEZE.
  
PICTURES OF MEMORY.
  
LOST AND SAVED.
  
TO ONE INSPIRED.
  
OVER THE WAY.
  
FEBRUARY.
  
TRUE LOVE CAN FORGET.
  
TOO LATE.
  
DESTINED.
  
THE DESERT FOUNTAIN.
  
TO ONE DYING.
  
TRUTH AND POETRY.

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93

CHARMED.

Turn away thy strange soft eyes,
They oppress me with their beauty,
And the light that in them lies
Lures me far from right and duty.
I have watched their dazzling beam
Till my very life and being,
Thought and speech and motion seem
Centered in the sense of seeing.
Though the fire of thy strange eyes
To my very heart is burning,
Still my wildered spirit sighs
Deeply for their soft returning.
For my all of bliss in life
I have known since first I met thee,—
Ah! it is a weary strife
This vain struggle to forget thee!
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