 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
134
OH! BEAUTIFUL ART THOU.
Oh! beautiful art thou as glowing Morn,
When, from her dewy, rose-wreathed, orient bower,
She flings to every cloud beside her borne,
To warm its heart of snow, a blushing flower.
When, from her dewy, rose-wreathed, orient bower,
She flings to every cloud beside her borne,
To warm its heart of snow, a blushing flower.
And thou art graceful as the jasmine spray,
Waved to Eolian melody in air;
And free and joyous as a rivulet's play,
And true as Truth, and pure as holy prayer.
Waved to Eolian melody in air;
And free and joyous as a rivulet's play,
And true as Truth, and pure as holy prayer.
I've wreathed with heart-flowers many a beauty's shrine,
And pour'd, in song, the soul of passion there;
But oh! that melody and bloom divine
Were worse than wasted on the false as fair!
And pour'd, in song, the soul of passion there;
But oh! that melody and bloom divine
Were worse than wasted on the false as fair!
To thee—to thee—with pilgrim heart I turn;
For thee my lute I fondly tune again;
Of thee love's sweet and glowing lore I'll learn;
Thy starlight smiles shall be his beaming chain!
For thee my lute I fondly tune again;
Of thee love's sweet and glowing lore I'll learn;
Thy starlight smiles shall be his beaming chain!
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |