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 | FAIL ME NOT THOU! The complete works of N.P. Willis |  |
FAIL ME NOT THOU!
“Oh, by that little word
How many thoughts are stirred! —
The last, the last, the last!”
The star may but a meteor be,
That breaks upon the stormy night;
And I may err, believing thee
A spark of heaven's own changeless light!
But if on earth beams aught so fair,
It seems, of all the lights that shine,
Serenest in its truth, 'tis there,
Burning in those soft eyes of thine.
Yet long-watched stars from heaven have rushed,
And long-loved friends have dropped away,
And mine — my very heart have crushed!
And I have hoped this many a day,
It lived no more for love or pain!
But thou hast stirred its depths again,
And to its dull, out-wearied ear,
Thy voice of melody has crept,
In tones it can not choose but hear;
And now I feel it only slept,
And know at ev'n thy lightest smile,
It gathered fire and strength the while.
Fail me not thou! This feeling past,
My heart would never rouse again.
Thou art the brightest — but the last!
And if this trust, this love is vain —
If thou, all peerless as thou art,
Be not less fair than true of heart —
My loves are o'er! The sun will shine
Upon no grave so hushed as this dark breast of mine.
How many thoughts are stirred! —
The last, the last, the last!”
The star may but a meteor be,
That breaks upon the stormy night;
And I may err, believing thee
A spark of heaven's own changeless light!
But if on earth beams aught so fair,
It seems, of all the lights that shine,
Serenest in its truth, 'tis there,
Burning in those soft eyes of thine.
Yet long-watched stars from heaven have rushed,
And long-loved friends have dropped away,
And mine — my very heart have crushed!
And I have hoped this many a day,
It lived no more for love or pain!
But thou hast stirred its depths again,
And to its dull, out-wearied ear,
Thy voice of melody has crept,
In tones it can not choose but hear;
And now I feel it only slept,
And know at ev'n thy lightest smile,
It gathered fire and strength the while.
Fail me not thou! This feeling past,
My heart would never rouse again.
Thou art the brightest — but the last!
And if this trust, this love is vain —
If thou, all peerless as thou art,
Be not less fair than true of heart —
My loves are o'er! The sun will shine
Upon no grave so hushed as this dark breast of mine.
| FAIL ME NOT THOU! The complete works of N.P. Willis | |