 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
THE EXCUSE.
The tribute of a passing lay,
The song that stranger eyes may see,
Not such the homage I would pay,
My own dear love, to thee;
No! poesy's less fragile flowers,
The riches of affection's mine,
And all the spirit's loftier powers
Are offered on thy shrine.
The song that stranger eyes may see,
Not such the homage I would pay,
My own dear love, to thee;
No! poesy's less fragile flowers,
The riches of affection's mine,
And all the spirit's loftier powers
Are offered on thy shrine.
When on the wing of fancy borne,
My spirit soars to realms of bliss,
And seeks those joys which ne'er adorn
A world of pain like this,
'Tis only that I would illume
The temple where mine idol dwells
With heaven's own light, and chase the gloom
Of earth's bewildering spells.
My spirit soars to realms of bliss,
And seeks those joys which ne'er adorn
A world of pain like this,
'Tis only that I would illume
The temple where mine idol dwells
With heaven's own light, and chase the gloom
Of earth's bewildering spells.
Though oft I feel that could I bind
Around my brow fame's fadeless wreath,
Filled with the power and pride of mind
My soul would smile at death;
Yet 'tis but for thy sake I claim
The honors of the poet's lot;
For why should glory be my aim
If thou couldst share it not?
Around my brow fame's fadeless wreath,
Filled with the power and pride of mind
My soul would smile at death;
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The honors of the poet's lot;
For why should glory be my aim
If thou couldst share it not?
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |