 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
[I. My portrait! will it serve when I am dead]
My portrait! will it serve when I am dead,To bring me to thy memory, as beside
Thy cheerful fire thou sitt'st at eventide—
Thoughtfully resting on thy hand thy head:
And, from thy mantle, with unconscious glance—
How full of speech to friendship!—I look down,
And catch thy sudden glances upward thrown,
Or note thine eyes fixed on me in a trance,
Speaking dear memories of sweet seasons gone,
Precious to both, and full of that fresh faith
That won the heart by fond soliciting
Of the true nature, and the generous spring,
Ere Hope had found denial, or Love scaith,
And to believe in all we feel and see,
Is youth's delight and best necessity?
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |