 | The collected poems of William Ellery Channing the younger, 1817-1901 |  |
990
GRACE
Grace was perfect, fresh, and fair,
Cheerful as a mountain air;
Blithely fearless, glad and free,
Pouting lips, with hazel ee.
O'er her firm-set figure played
Charms to make a saint afraid;
To this magnet strong and sweet
Swift my willing steps must fleet.
Grace was all a paragon—
Oh, she drew me like a sun!
Cheerful as a mountain air;
Blithely fearless, glad and free,
Pouting lips, with hazel ee.
O'er her firm-set figure played
Charms to make a saint afraid;
To this magnet strong and sweet
Swift my willing steps must fleet.
Grace was all a paragon—
Oh, she drew me like a sun!
Round about her valley lie
Purple mountains on the sky,
And within her valley's fold
Lakes that set no price in gold,
Tracks that climb the crag and glen,
And a race of frugal men.
Purple mountains on the sky,
And within her valley's fold
Lakes that set no price in gold,
Tracks that climb the crag and glen,
And a race of frugal men.
Buoyant, wilful, frank, and gay,
Grace ne'er lived a wretched day—
Joy of parents, loved by all,
Warmed and cheered her father's hall.
Years of sadness now thrown over,
Once again was I a lover;
Laughed again the lake's low shore,
Laughed the hilltops ten times more,
And the birches in the wood
Fluttered midst the solitude.
“Grace was lovely, Grace was fine—
Could not Grace, dear Grace, be mine?”
Grace ne'er lived a wretched day—
Joy of parents, loved by all,
Warmed and cheered her father's hall.
Years of sadness now thrown over,
Once again was I a lover;
Laughed again the lake's low shore,
Laughed the hilltops ten times more,
And the birches in the wood
991
“Grace was lovely, Grace was fine—
Could not Grace, dear Grace, be mine?”
Many times around my light,
Darting at the centre bright,
Have I viewed a wretched moth
Singe his feather, by my troth.
I had wept and I had loved—
Frail and fatal all it proved;
Might have known it ne'er could be—
Might have guessed she hated me!
Darting at the centre bright,
Have I viewed a wretched moth
Singe his feather, by my troth.
I had wept and I had loved—
Frail and fatal all it proved;
Might have known it ne'er could be—
Might have guessed she hated me!
Girl of Life's determined hours,
Clad in glory as the flowers,
Virginal as Venus came
From the sea at Morning's flame,
All a sunny, fond surprise,
With her wealth of hazel eyes—
She was not, if I was, poor,—
Parents prudent,—life in store,—
Could I sing her virtues more?
Clad in glory as the flowers,
Virginal as Venus came
From the sea at Morning's flame,
All a sunny, fond surprise,
With her wealth of hazel eyes—
She was not, if I was, poor,—
Parents prudent,—life in store,—
Could I sing her virtues more?
Grace had beauty, Grace had truth—
Well I loved her in my youth!
And she taught me a fine word—
This (I might have elsewhere heard):
That not all I wish is mine—
What I have should seem divine.
Well I loved her in my youth!
And she taught me a fine word—
This (I might have elsewhere heard):
That not all I wish is mine—
What I have should seem divine.
| The collected poems of William Ellery Channing the younger, 1817-1901 | |