 | Hours at Naples, and Other Poems |  |
I TURN TO THEE.
I turn to thee when I would weep,
Mother of silent Sorrows deep;—
Pale Memory! I must turn to thee
When I would shed fond tears and free.
Mother of silent Sorrows deep;—
Pale Memory! I must turn to thee
When I would shed fond tears and free.
For, oh! there is a weight—a chain
Upon my heart—around my brain—
And the stern Present, hard and cold,
Such sweet relief doth still withhold!
Upon my heart—around my brain—
And the stern Present, hard and cold,
Such sweet relief doth still withhold!
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Let me remember how of yore
I felt unto my Heart's quick core,
While every feeling that I felt,
In tears or smiles did glow or melt!
I felt unto my Heart's quick core,
While every feeling that I felt,
In tears or smiles did glow or melt!
And thus remembering—not in vain—
(Freed from that weight and from that chain)
Oh! let me pour—unfettered pour—
My long-crushed feelings forth once more.
(Freed from that weight and from that chain)
Oh! let me pour—unfettered pour—
My long-crushed feelings forth once more.
Mother of Mighty Sorrows deep—
Pale Memory—teach me now to weep—
Let me upon thy bosom rest,
And shed those tears too long suppress'd.
Pale Memory—teach me now to weep—
Let me upon thy bosom rest,
And shed those tears too long suppress'd.
| Hours at Naples, and Other Poems | |