 | Poems |  |
252
THE AWAKENING.
My heart! the honey-dews of sweet repose
Have vainly blessed thee! thy hope's broken Rose
Still o'er thy wakening sheds its desolate leaves!
And, O, that lovely ruin dimly flings
Such shadow o'er thy brightest loveliest springs—
They flow like cold, cold waves on wintry eves!
Have vainly blessed thee! thy hope's broken Rose
Still o'er thy wakening sheds its desolate leaves!
And, O, that lovely ruin dimly flings
Such shadow o'er thy brightest loveliest springs—
They flow like cold, cold waves on wintry eves!
Yet still, as some clear-shining mountain brook
Gives back, with faithful undistracted look,
The bloom or blight of the o'erhanging flowers,
So dost thou—ever sad and sorrowing heart,
All altered—darkly altered, as thou art,
Glance back each aspect of life's changeful hours!
Gives back, with faithful undistracted look,
The bloom or blight of the o'erhanging flowers,
So dost thou—ever sad and sorrowing heart,
All altered—darkly altered, as thou art,
Glance back each aspect of life's changeful hours!
| Poems | |