Impressions of Italy and Other Poems By the Lady E. Stuart Wortley |
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OH! THAT I COULD BUT LOOK ON THEE! |
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 | Impressions of Italy and Other Poems |  |
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OH! THAT I COULD BUT LOOK ON THEE!
Oh! that I could but look on thee,
But dare to meet those dangerous eyes;
My passion—mine idolatry
That solace grievously denies.
But dare to meet those dangerous eyes;
My passion—mine idolatry
That solace grievously denies.
I envy—how I envy those
Who can meet steadfastly thy look,
To a refinement in my woes,
That such I cannot, dare not brook.
Who can meet steadfastly thy look,
To a refinement in my woes,
That such I cannot, dare not brook.
There's such an Echo in my heart;
Thy voice to me is almost lost!
Ah, see!—Beloved One, that thou art,
What pains my least light pleasures cost!
Thy voice to me is almost lost!
Ah, see!—Beloved One, that thou art,
What pains my least light pleasures cost!
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If I but once confront thy glance,
My very soul seems whirled away
In some strange agonizing trance,
And wrenched from its yet throbbing clay!
My very soul seems whirled away
In some strange agonizing trance,
And wrenched from its yet throbbing clay!
Like one without or soul or sense—
In thy dear Presence, Love—I seem
Victim of Passion too intense,
That freezes up Existence' Stream.
In thy dear Presence, Love—I seem
Victim of Passion too intense,
That freezes up Existence' Stream.
Yes! with a weight of death and frost,
On its wild pulses, lies my heart;
And soul, and sense, and life seem lost—
Till—doom yet worse than death—we part!
On its wild pulses, lies my heart;
And soul, and sense, and life seem lost—
Till—doom yet worse than death—we part!
| Impressions of Italy and Other Poems | |