Madeline With other poems and parables: By Thomas Gordon Hake |
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XIX. | XIX.
ON HOPE. |
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XLI. |
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XLIX. |
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Madeline | ||
199
XIX. ON HOPE.
Like waters from a sandy well,
Hope bubbles through the mind:
Her springs to troubled fountains well,
Ere scattered in the wind.
The young draw rapture as she flows
And all that dreams afford bestows.
Hope bubbles through the mind:
Her springs to troubled fountains well,
Ere scattered in the wind.
The young draw rapture as she flows
And all that dreams afford bestows.
Why, as the waters run away
Eloping with the hours,
Has every bubble burst in spray?
So, Hope her own devours!
Thermal her spring in days of old,
Nor now the kindly flow is cold.
Eloping with the hours,
Has every bubble burst in spray?
So, Hope her own devours!
Thermal her spring in days of old,
Nor now the kindly flow is cold.
But, once fond youth no longer sports
Save in the vale of years,
Nor with a warmer spring comports
Than wets the vale of tears.
There when the fount its bubble throws,
The licensed jet through marble flows.
Save in the vale of years,
Nor with a warmer spring comports
Than wets the vale of tears.
There when the fount its bubble throws,
The licensed jet through marble flows.
Madeline | ||