 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
115
HAD WE BUT MET.
Had we but met in life's delicious spring,
When young romance made Eden of the world;
When bird-like Hope was ever on the wing,
(In thy dear breast how soon had it been furl'd!)
When young romance made Eden of the world;
When bird-like Hope was ever on the wing,
(In thy dear breast how soon had it been furl'd!)
Had we but met when both our hearts were beating
With the wild joy—the guileless love of youth—
Thou a proud boy—with frank and ardent greeting—
And I, a timid girl, all trust and truth!
With the wild joy—the guileless love of youth—
Thou a proud boy—with frank and ardent greeting—
And I, a timid girl, all trust and truth!
Ere yet my pulse's light, elastic play
Had learn'd the weary weight of grief to know,
Ere from these eyes had pass'd the morning ray,
And from my cheek the early rose's glow;
Had learn'd the weary weight of grief to know,
Ere from these eyes had pass'd the morning ray,
And from my cheek the early rose's glow;
Had we but met in life's delicious spring,
Ere wrong and falsehood taught me doubt and fear,
Ere hope came back with worn and wounded wing,
To die upon the heart she could not cheer;
Ere wrong and falsehood taught me doubt and fear,
Ere hope came back with worn and wounded wing,
To die upon the heart she could not cheer;
116
Ere I love's precious pearl had vainly lavish'd,
Pledging an idol deaf to my despair;
Ere one by one the buds and blooms were ravish'd
From life's rich garland by the clasp of Care.
Pledging an idol deaf to my despair;
Ere one by one the buds and blooms were ravish'd
From life's rich garland by the clasp of Care.
Ah! had we then but met!—I dare not listen
To the wild whispers of my fancy now!
My full heart beats—my sad, droop'd lashes glisten—
I hear the music of thy boyhood's vow!
To the wild whispers of my fancy now!
My full heart beats—my sad, droop'd lashes glisten—
I hear the music of thy boyhood's vow!
I see thy dark eyes lustrous with love's meaning,
I feel thy dear hand softly clasp mine own—
Thy noble form is fondly o'er me leaning—
Love's radiant morn—but ah! the dream has flown!
I feel thy dear hand softly clasp mine own—
Thy noble form is fondly o'er me leaning—
Love's radiant morn—but ah! the dream has flown!
How had I pour'd this passionate heart's devotion
In voiceless rapture on thy manly breast!
How had I hush'd each sorrowful emotion,
Lull'd by thy love to sweet, untroubled rest!
In voiceless rapture on thy manly breast!
How had I hush'd each sorrowful emotion,
Lull'd by thy love to sweet, untroubled rest!
How had I knelt hour after hour beside thee,
When from thy lips the rare, scholastic lore
Fell on the soul that all but deified thee,
While at each pause, I, childlike, pray'd for more.
When from thy lips the rare, scholastic lore
Fell on the soul that all but deified thee,
While at each pause, I, childlike, pray'd for more.
117
How had I watch'd the shadow of each feeling
That moved thy soul glance o'er that radiant face,
“Taming my wild heart” to that dear revealing,
And glorying in thy genius and thy grace!
That moved thy soul glance o'er that radiant face,
“Taming my wild heart” to that dear revealing,
And glorying in thy genius and thy grace!
Then hadst thou loved me with a love abiding,
And I had now been less unworthy thee,
For I was generous, guileless, and confiding,
A frank enthusiast—buoyant, fresh, and free.
And I had now been less unworthy thee,
For I was generous, guileless, and confiding,
A frank enthusiast—buoyant, fresh, and free.
But now,—my loftiest aspirations perish'd,
My holiest hopes a jest for lips profane,
The tenderest yearnings of my soul uncherish'd,
A soul-worn slave in Custom's iron chain,—
My holiest hopes a jest for lips profane,
The tenderest yearnings of my soul uncherish'd,
A soul-worn slave in Custom's iron chain,—
Check'd by those ties that make my lightest sigh,
My faintest blush, at thought of thee, a crime—
How must I still my heart, and school my eye,
And count in vain the slow dull steps of Time.
My faintest blush, at thought of thee, a crime—
How must I still my heart, and school my eye,
And count in vain the slow dull steps of Time.
Wilt thou come back? Ah! what avails to ask thee,
Since honour, faith, forbid thee to return?
Yet to forgetfulness I dare not task thee,
Lest thou too soon that easy lesson learn!
Since honour, faith, forbid thee to return?
Yet to forgetfulness I dare not task thee,
Lest thou too soon that easy lesson learn!
118
Ah! come not back, love! even through Memory's ear
Thy tone's melodious murmur thrills my heart—
Come not with that fond smile, so frank, so dear;
While yet we may, let us for ever part!
Thy tone's melodious murmur thrills my heart—
Come not with that fond smile, so frank, so dear;
While yet we may, let us for ever part!
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |