 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
206
I DEARLY LOVE A CHANGING CHEEK.
I dearly love a changing cheek,
That glows or pales as feeling chooses,
And lets the free heart frankly speak
Upon it what the tongue refuses;
That glows or pales as feeling chooses,
And lets the free heart frankly speak
Upon it what the tongue refuses;
Where eloquent blushes burn and fade,
Rich with the wealth of warm emotion;
Or starry dimples mock the shade,
Like jewels in a restless ocean.
Rich with the wealth of warm emotion;
Or starry dimples mock the shade,
Like jewels in a restless ocean.
I dearly love a speaking eye,
That tells you there's a soul to wake it;
Now fired with fancies wild and high,
Now soft as sympathy can make it;
That tells you there's a soul to wake it;
Now fired with fancies wild and high,
Now soft as sympathy can make it;
An eye whose dreamy depths and dark
In Passion's storm can proudly lighten!
But where Love's tears can quench the spark,
And Peace the sky serenely brighten!
In Passion's storm can proudly lighten!
But where Love's tears can quench the spark,
And Peace the sky serenely brighten!
207
I love a lip that eye to match,
Now curl'd with scorn, now press'd in sadness,
And, quick each feeling's change to catch,
Next moment arch'd with smiles of gladness.
Now curl'd with scorn, now press'd in sadness,
And, quick each feeling's change to catch,
Next moment arch'd with smiles of gladness.
I love a hand that meets mine own
With grasp that causes some sensation;
I love a voice whose varying tone
From Truth has learn'd its modulation.
With grasp that causes some sensation;
I love a voice whose varying tone
From Truth has learn'd its modulation.
And who can boast that regal eye?
That smile and tone, untaught by art?
That cheek of ever-changing dye?
That brave, free, generous, cordial heart?
That smile and tone, untaught by art?
That cheek of ever-changing dye?
That brave, free, generous, cordial heart?
I need not name her! None who've heard
Her welcome true—her parting blessing—
Her laugh, by lightest trifle stirr'd—
Her frank reply—will fail in guessing!
Her welcome true—her parting blessing—
Her laugh, by lightest trifle stirr'd—
Her frank reply—will fail in guessing!
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |