 | The lost pleiad ; and other poems |  |
THE POETRY OF LOVE, JOY, AND GRIEF.
To hang upon his breast by day,
To lie close by his side by night;
To heed whatever he may say,
And do it with as fond delight;
To make each thought of him thy sigh,
To love him more than God above,
And think that he can never die—
This is the Poetry of Love.
To lie close by his side by night;
To heed whatever he may say,
And do it with as fond delight;
To make each thought of him thy sigh,
To love him more than God above,
And think that he can never die—
This is the Poetry of Love.
To think him, absent, by thy side—
Whatever he may do is right;
To love him as when first his bride,
And think each one thy bridal night;
To live through life unchanged in years,
With love that time cannot destroy,
And have each thought expressed in tears—
This is the Poetry of Joy.
Whatever he may do is right;
To love him as when first his bride,
And think each one thy bridal night;
To live through life unchanged in years,
With love that time cannot destroy,
And have each thought expressed in tears—
This is the Poetry of Joy.
To sit down by his dying bed,
To count each pulse—to feel each pain—
To love him after he is dead,
And never more to smile again;
To love him after as before—
To find his grave thy sole relief—
And weep for him forever more—
This is the Poetry of Grief.
To count each pulse—to feel each pain—
To love him after he is dead,
And never more to smile again;
To love him after as before—
To find his grave thy sole relief—
And weep for him forever more—
This is the Poetry of Grief.
New York, October 10th, 1839.
| The lost pleiad ; and other poems | |