Madmoments: or First Verseattempts :: :: University of Virginia Library

How the Heart beautifies the smallest thing
That feels its influence, and o'er it throws
Hues, still by time untouched! this withered Rose,
Long Stranger to the Dew's soft visiting;
No more an Emblem of the scented Spring,
But a sad Proof how soon Joy comes and goes;
This Type of very Bliss, might now lie close
To Time's own Hourglass, and add a Sting
Unto his moral! Yet to me'tis dear,
So dear, that tho' nought-worth in other Eyes,
I would not for the fairest Flower that e'er
The Dew lay on, exchange it-laugh not, wise
Philosopher, with puckered Brow, and Sneer
Of Selfsuperiority, at youth
Who plucks the Rose, and likening the Prize
To the fair Maiden's cheek he loves so true,
Places it in her Bosom, and when sear
It still seems so, so fairylovely to
His Sight, for on the Breast, where now it lies,
It drew the Perfume of the Heart, by which
Its faded Leaves in Love's immortal dies
Were steeped, and therefore is its odour rich,
As when himself still pure, he thought all too
Was Godlike, and not doubting of its Truth,
Grew that which he believed! And when the years
Have wrinkled that young Brow, and like the Rose,
No trace of its first Loveliness appears,
Still o'er her Form a holy Atmosphere
Of Beauty, his Heart throws; and She, the Flower,
Seem still the same he gazed on at that Hour!

Yea! gazing steadily into that Face,
O'er which the Touch of Sorrow and the Trace
Of mortal change, have passed, he sees alone
An Angel, and to him she still is one!
Oh wise Man! wise Man! there is Wisdom, Yea!
Which enters not into thy narrow Brain;
A Wisdom, which with its calm divine ray,
Gives back their Springtide Loveliness again
To all Life's Forms; and as beneath the Play
Of purple Sunlight, in the common way,
The coarse Dust gleams like Jewels, so this can
Make all things lovely for the eyes of Man,
However mean and common it appears!
Then kneel, and weep, yea! weep thou bitter Tears,
If thou hast never felt, or been as he!
Weep bitter Tears, yea! bitterer still, if thou
Hast been so, and art so, so changëd now,
As not to feel thine Heart rejoice in thee
At that which is so lovely in itself!
Weep Tears, they are the most acceptable
Of Offerings to God; for they can tell
Alone, how deep is this thy misery.
Weep, for thy Lot is worthyer of Tears
Than if thou wert a Cripple without use
Of Limb and Sense, for thy Heart doth refuse
A Tear unto thine Eye! Paralysis
Hath struck it, and as cold as Ice it is!
O God, I pity thee; first, that no more
Thou canst pluck that so fair, fair Rose, and laste
A divine joy, in placing it before
Thy dear one's breast, with thoughts as pure and chaste,
As those of the just now unfolding Flower!
For if itself thinks not, it is a thought
Of him who made it, and by it is taught,
The Good, the Beautiful, and True, as well
As by the Lips of Wisdom her own Self!

And secondly, oh thou whom Gold and Pelf,
And the World's Glitter, can alone impel,
I pity thee, that thou do'st not yet know
Thy misery, but gloryest in thy woe:
The Curse to be imaginationless,
And never once in raptured thought to press
Thy dear one's Lips again, though long, long gone,
And feel the yearning Heart beat back thine own!
Oh! better far it were that thou shouldst stand
By the Roadside and stretch thy skinny Hand
For Bread, than wear a smile of Mockery,
At that which should bring Tears into thine Eye!