 | Poems |  |
90
TO MISS ------.
Thou wert to me a mystery of not unpleasing dread;
Thou art to me a history that I have quickly read!
There is a spell upon thee which I would not read aloud,
To any but thy secret ear within an arbour's shroud.
For though it might be quickly said, thy cheek would change its hue
If 'twere exprest by more than one, or heard by more than two.
It is not guilt, it is not shame; tho' leading oft to both
In breasts where sensibility is prodigal of growth.
Thou art to me a history that I have quickly read!
There is a spell upon thee which I would not read aloud,
To any but thy secret ear within an arbour's shroud.
For though it might be quickly said, thy cheek would change its hue
If 'twere exprest by more than one, or heard by more than two.
It is not guilt, it is not shame; tho' leading oft to both
In breasts where sensibility is prodigal of growth.
Thou art not happy, though thy smile would fain the truth deny;
I know too much of sorrow's guile to trust a laughing eye:
Thine is a genuine woman's heart; all woman to the core;
Beware; be warn'd before we part! for we shall meet no more.
(Though not perchance without a sigh shall memory oft retrace
That fine pale air of intellect and melancholy grace.)
Farewell, forget me if thou wilt, while pleasures round thee bloom,
Remember me when thou art left in solitude and gloom.
I know too much of sorrow's guile to trust a laughing eye:
91
Beware; be warn'd before we part! for we shall meet no more.
(Though not perchance without a sigh shall memory oft retrace
That fine pale air of intellect and melancholy grace.)
Farewell, forget me if thou wilt, while pleasures round thee bloom,
Remember me when thou art left in solitude and gloom.
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