The Poetical Language of Flowers or, The Pilgrimage of Love. By Thomas Miller. Second Edition |
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 | The Poetical Language of Flowers |  |
13
FORGET-ME NOT.
LOVE, FORGET ME NOT, FOR IF FORSAKEN I DIE.
Thy very name is Love's own Poetry,
Born of the heart and of the eye begot,
Nursed amid sighs and smiles by Constancy,
And ever breathing, ‘Love, Forget me not.”
Born of the heart and of the eye begot,
Nursed amid sighs and smiles by Constancy,
And ever breathing, ‘Love, Forget me not.”
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[By the wold and by the wildwood]
By the wold and by the wildwood,By lonely mere, and water'd lea,
Haunts of age, and sportive childhood,
I am doomed to follow thee:
By the torrent it was utter'd,
'Mid the flowers that round it blow,
And upon the breeze was mutter'd
The sad sentence of our woe—
And each bud and bell that's hollow,
Bade thee lead where I must follow.
Till the flowers thy feet surrounding
Shall be planted everywhere,
No shaded stream but what they're found in,
Throughout the summers of each year:
And in remembrance of our sorrow,
Many a maid shall seek that spot
In twilight glooms,—and when the morrow
Gilds the sweet Forget-me-not—
Where the river murmurs hollow,
Lovers ages hence shall follow.
Shall be planted everywhere,
No shaded stream but what they're found in,
Throughout the summers of each year:
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Many a maid shall seek that spot
In twilight glooms,—and when the morrow
Gilds the sweet Forget-me-not—
Where the river murmurs hollow,
Lovers ages hence shall follow.
And where the forest brook runs brawling,—
Here in sunshine, there in shade,—
Lovers shall be oft heard calling,
While they traverse glen and glade:
As they search each woodland spot,
Hazelled dell and briery brake,
For the blue Forget-me-not,
Which they'll cherish for our sake—
And up to Heaven's high arching hollow,
Many a sigh our loves shall follow.
Here in sunshine, there in shade,—
Lovers shall be oft heard calling,
While they traverse glen and glade:
As they search each woodland spot,
Hazelled dell and briery brake,
For the blue Forget-me-not,
Which they'll cherish for our sake—
And up to Heaven's high arching hollow,
Many a sigh our loves shall follow.
And in the flower they shall see blended,
The golden star that emblems thee,
Rimmed with the blue thy wings descended—
The heaven thou'st lost, for love of me:
Without repining, or complaining,
Must thy weary task be done,
If thou hast hopes of e'er regaining
Those lost realms beyond the sun—
For the Voice said, low and hollow,
“Where he goest thou shalt follow.”
The golden star that emblems thee,
Rimmed with the blue thy wings descended—
The heaven thou'st lost, for love of me:
Without repining, or complaining,
Must thy weary task be done,
If thou hast hopes of e'er regaining
Those lost realms beyond the sun—
For the Voice said, low and hollow,
“Where he goest thou shalt follow.”
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FORGET-ME-NOT.
Forget thee, love?—no, not whilst heaven
Spans its starred vault across the sky;
Oh, may I never be forgiven,
If e'er I cause that heart a sigh!
Sooner shall the Forget-me-not
Shun the fringed brook by which it grows,
And pine for some sequestered spot,
Where not a silver ripple flows.
By the blue heaven that bends above me,
Dearly and fondly do I love thee!
Spans its starred vault across the sky;
Oh, may I never be forgiven,
If e'er I cause that heart a sigh!
Sooner shall the Forget-me-not
Shun the fringed brook by which it grows,
And pine for some sequestered spot,
Where not a silver ripple flows.
By the blue heaven that bends above me,
Dearly and fondly do I love thee!
They fabled not in days of old
That Love neglected soon will perish,—
Throughout all time the truth doth hold
That what we love we ever cherish.
For when the Sun neglects the Flower,
And the sweet pearly dews forsake it,
It hangs its head, and from that hour
Prays only unto Death to take it.
So may I droop, by all above me,
If once this heart doth cease to love thee!
That Love neglected soon will perish,—
Throughout all time the truth doth hold
That what we love we ever cherish.
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And the sweet pearly dews forsake it,
It hangs its head, and from that hour
Prays only unto Death to take it.
So may I droop, by all above me,
If once this heart doth cease to love thee!
The Turtle-Dove that's lost its mate,
Hides in some gloomy greenwood shade,
And there alone mourns o'er its fate,
With plumes for ever disarrayed:
Alone! alone! it there sits cooing:—
Deem'st thou, my love, what it doth seek?
'Tis Death the mournful bird is wooing,
In murmurs through its plaintive beak.
So will I mourn, by all above me,
If in this world I cease to love thee!
Hides in some gloomy greenwood shade,
And there alone mourns o'er its fate,
With plumes for ever disarrayed:
Alone! alone! it there sits cooing:—
Deem'st thou, my love, what it doth seek?
'Tis Death the mournful bird is wooing,
In murmurs through its plaintive beak.
So will I mourn, by all above me,
If in this world I cease to love thee!
| The Poetical Language of Flowers | |