 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
147
“WEARY OF YOU!”
“Weary of you!” I should weary as soonOf a fountain, playing its low lute-tune,
With its mellow contralto lapsing in,
Like a message of love through this worldly din!
“Weary of you!”
I could tire as well of a graceful flower,
Breathing beside me hour by hour,
With its perfumed sighs and its delicate bloom,
Hushfully hallowing all the room!
“Weary of you!”
If a dove at my couch should softly light,
And fold its wings like the fall of night,
And arch its throat, with its tranquil coo,
Till the sunbeam touch'd its purple hue,
And play'd on each exquisite fairy plume,
Till it glisten'd and glow'd like an amethyst's bloom;
I should weary of any thing, fair and true—
Of moonlight and music—as soon as of you!
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |