 | TO M — FROM ABROAD. The complete works of N.P. Willis |  |
TO M — FROM ABROAD.
“The desire of the moth for the star —
Of the night for the morrow —
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow.”
Of the night for the morrow —
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow.”
Shelley.
“L'alma, quel che non ha, sogna a figura.”
Metastasio.
As, gazing on the Pleiades,
We count each fair and starry one,
Yet wander from the light of these
To muse upon the Pleiad gone —
As, bending o'er fresh gathered flowers,
The rose's most enchanting hue
Reminds us but of other hours
Whose roses were all lovely too —
So, dearest, when I rove among
The bright ones of this foreign sky,
And mark the smile, and list the song,
And watch the dancers gliding by,
The fairer still they seem to be,
The more it stirs a thought of thee!
The sad, sweet bells of twilight chime,
Of many hearts may touch but one,
And so this seeming careless rhyme
Will whisper to thy heart alone.
I give it to the winds! The bird
Let loose, to his far nest will flee,
And love, though breathed but on a word,
Will find thee, over land and sea.
Though clouds across the sky have driven,
We trust the star at last will shine,
And like the very light of heaven
I trust thy love. Trust thou in mine!
We count each fair and starry one,
Yet wander from the light of these
To muse upon the Pleiad gone —
As, bending o'er fresh gathered flowers,
The rose's most enchanting hue
Reminds us but of other hours
Whose roses were all lovely too —
So, dearest, when I rove among
The bright ones of this foreign sky,
And mark the smile, and list the song,
And watch the dancers gliding by,
The fairer still they seem to be,
The more it stirs a thought of thee!
The sad, sweet bells of twilight chime,
Of many hearts may touch but one,
And so this seeming careless rhyme
Will whisper to thy heart alone.
I give it to the winds! The bird
Let loose, to his far nest will flee,
And love, though breathed but on a word,
Will find thee, over land and sea.
Though clouds across the sky have driven,
We trust the star at last will shine,
And like the very light of heaven
I trust thy love. Trust thou in mine!
| TO M — FROM ABROAD. The complete works of N.P. Willis | |