 | Lays of Leisure Hours |  |
92
AND COULD'ST THOU HOLD.
And could'st thou hold the dagger to my heart,And watch the life even throb by throb depart,
Even pulse by pulse slow perish and decay,
And pass, as thy weak love hath passed away?
Could'st thou look calm upon my sufferings then,
And still inflict the murderous blow again,
And gaze upon the fading, failing hue
In my cold cheek, which once, beloved One, grew
More and more smiling still beneath thine eye,
The Star of all my Soul's idolatry?
More and more glowing thy loved gaze beneath,
As some young rose new-nursed by the sweet breath
Of southern breezes, and by opening rays
Of Summer's Suns into one crimson blaze?
93
To strike this death-blow to my bosomed bliss—
To draw the angry cloud o'er all my hopes,
Till sick to death the immortal Spirit droops,
That cannot die—that cannot cease to feel,
But suffers pangs no language can reveal,
And feeds upon its tortures evermore,
And strengthens, on its sufferings sharp and sore!
Oh! 'tis more barbarous, 'tis more heartless far,
Thus—thus—e'en smile by smile and star by star
To snatch away my hope, my Life of Life,
And watch me sinking slow beneath the strife;
My peace, my happiness to stab and slay,
And gaze unpitying as they die away—
To murder me in mine own loving heart,
And aim the blow at the most feeling part!
| Lays of Leisure Hours | |