 | Poems |  |
24
TO THE SAME.
Kathleen! my saint, that art in heaven,
No griefs can cloud thy nature now;
Thy sin (if sin it were!) forgiven,
A glory girds thy guiltless brow:
No griefs can cloud thy nature now;
Thy sin (if sin it were!) forgiven,
A glory girds thy guiltless brow:
And thou with all the sainted Dead,
Who watch God's throne with happy eyes,
Dwellest where tears are never shed,
And only Pity sometimes sighs.
Who watch God's throne with happy eyes,
Dwellest where tears are never shed,
And only Pity sometimes sighs.
Ah! turn not thy clear eyes below,
Lest thou, whose human tears would roll
Adown thy cheek, in streams of woe,
If ever sorrow dimmed my soul,
Lest thou, whose human tears would roll
Adown thy cheek, in streams of woe,
If ever sorrow dimmed my soul,
Should'st see me where I sit forlorn,
And rock and sway an aching breast,
And strive in vain, while so I mourn,
To lull my sleepless woe to rest:
And rock and sway an aching breast,
And strive in vain, while so I mourn,
To lull my sleepless woe to rest:
Lest thou, my darling, noting this,
Should'st feel a vague sense o'er thee creep
Of something wanting to the bliss
Of Angel-souls—who cannot weep!
Should'st feel a vague sense o'er thee creep
Of something wanting to the bliss
Of Angel-souls—who cannot weep!
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