 | The heir of the world, and lesser poems |  |
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THE VOICE OF THE EYE.
When rosy lipp'd Spring, on the green hills of May,
Sits, smiling through tears, mid the stillness of night,
And the music of waters, rolling on far away,
Breathes soft o'er the soul that is wrapt to delight;
And bright stars are gemming the zone of the sky,
As they hold fond communion in glory above—
Oh, true lovers then hear the voice of the eye,
O'er the moon-lighted dale and the whispering grove.
Sits, smiling through tears, mid the stillness of night,
And the music of waters, rolling on far away,
Breathes soft o'er the soul that is wrapt to delight;
And bright stars are gemming the zone of the sky,
As they hold fond communion in glory above—
Oh, true lovers then hear the voice of the eye,
O'er the moon-lighted dale and the whispering grove.
The vista of poplars that bends to the breeze,
The cool, dewy vallies of verdure and flowers,
The zephyrs that harp mid the leaves of the trees,
And the starlight that shadows the magical bowers—
All blend with the music that comes from on high,
As passion grows brighter in ecstasy's tears,
And true lovers hear the soft voice of the eye,
While hope soars to heaven on the star-wings of years.
The cool, dewy vallies of verdure and flowers,
The zephyrs that harp mid the leaves of the trees,
And the starlight that shadows the magical bowers—
All blend with the music that comes from on high,
As passion grows brighter in ecstasy's tears,
And true lovers hear the soft voice of the eye,
While hope soars to heaven on the star-wings of years.
Like an infant's gay dream, as it sleeps on the breast,
Where the heart ever throbs with ineffable love,
In the springtime of beauty each vision is blest,
And the soul burns with rapture, like angels above;
Then young thoughts are pure as the breath of the sky,
And revealments of pleasure float over the soul,
While in silence, heaven hears the soft voice of the eye,
O'er love thrilling hearts its deep eloquence roll.
Where the heart ever throbs with ineffable love,
In the springtime of beauty each vision is blest,
And the soul burns with rapture, like angels above;
Then young thoughts are pure as the breath of the sky,
And revealments of pleasure float over the soul,
While in silence, heaven hears the soft voice of the eye,
O'er love thrilling hearts its deep eloquence roll.
When the cold winds of winter, that howl in the wood,
Are companioned by feelings more deadly and chill,
And the hours, that have fled, like the wave of the flood,
Beneath icy sorrows, roll wildly but still;
And hope cheers no more, as it passes on high,
Mid the darkness of ruin—the midnight of wo—
Oh! then listen not to the voice of the eye,
For its glance tells a tale it were madness to know.
Are companioned by feelings more deadly and chill,
And the hours, that have fled, like the wave of the flood,
Beneath icy sorrows, roll wildly but still;
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Mid the darkness of ruin—the midnight of wo—
Oh! then listen not to the voice of the eye,
For its glance tells a tale it were madness to know.
When the sunbeams that burn on the love-angel's wing
Are mirror'd by dews on the flower of young love,
And affection, perfume round the cold world can fling,
As it dances through air like a rainbow-wing'd dove;
When Aurora her lyre, in the soft tinted sky,
Touches softly while wreathing her sun-tinctured hair—
Oh, listen then, Love, to the voice of the eye,
For all but sad truth tells of happiness there.
Are mirror'd by dews on the flower of young love,
And affection, perfume round the cold world can fling,
As it dances through air like a rainbow-wing'd dove;
When Aurora her lyre, in the soft tinted sky,
Touches softly while wreathing her sun-tinctured hair—
Oh, listen then, Love, to the voice of the eye,
For all but sad truth tells of happiness there.
| The heir of the world, and lesser poems | |