 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
192
TRUE LOVE CAN FORGET.
Has death or change in its course bereft you?
Does life seem worthless and dark and vain?
You may say that one you have loved has left you,
But not that you never shall love again!
Does life seem worthless and dark and vain?
You may say that one you have loved has left you,
But not that you never shall love again!
I know you think that your heart's deep feeling
Can never waver, nor change, nor dim,
That no new charm will be o'er it stealing,
No new voice warble love's angel hymn!
Can never waver, nor change, nor dim,
That no new charm will be o'er it stealing,
No new voice warble love's angel hymn!
A pleasing fable is “love undying,”
And one which daily is proved untrue,
For with fallen idols around us lying
We seek another, and love anew!
And one which daily is proved untrue,
For with fallen idols around us lying
We seek another, and love anew!
We love to think, when our best and dearest
Are buried, our hearts are buried too,
That our love, which life has proved sincerest;
In death's deep darkness will still be true,—
Are buried, our hearts are buried too,
That our love, which life has proved sincerest;
In death's deep darkness will still be true,—
193
True, though its idol is coldly lying
Under the grave-sods, beneath our tread,
Though the worshipped lips make no replying,
And the heart once loving, lies still and dead.
Under the grave-sods, beneath our tread,
Though the worshipped lips make no replying,
And the heart once loving, lies still and dead.
We love to think we shall always cherish
The thought of a buried form and face,
For 't is hard to own that when we shall perish,
Some other idol will take our place!
The thought of a buried form and face,
For 't is hard to own that when we shall perish,
Some other idol will take our place!
We try to think that the hearts which love us,
To which our own yield a sweet return,
Are steady and true as the stars above us,
Which, though we die, will not cease to burn!
To which our own yield a sweet return,
Are steady and true as the stars above us,
Which, though we die, will not cease to burn!
Yet wherefore cherish the fond believing?
Can we love a handful of lifeless dust?
And our weak hearts, “above all deceiving,”
Can they always cling to a buried trust?
Can we love a handful of lifeless dust?
And our weak hearts, “above all deceiving,”
Can they always cling to a buried trust?
No! the heart with an impulse kindly given,
Craves living love, as a flower the sun,
And when one love from its clasp is riven,
It seeks another and still loves on!
Craves living love, as a flower the sun,
And when one love from its clasp is riven,
It seeks another and still loves on!
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |