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Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | ||
217
THE POET'S REPLY TO UNDESERVED PRAISE.
I wrong not so your noble heart,
As fear you'd play the flatterer's part,
Though far from all desert in me
Your soul-inspiring praises be.
As fear you'd play the flatterer's part,
Though far from all desert in me
Your soul-inspiring praises be.
The star that sees, within the lake,
Its own illumined image wake,
May deem some sea-born gem has risen
To greet it from its darkling prison.
Its own illumined image wake,
May deem some sea-born gem has risen
To greet it from its darkling prison.
And well I know the ardent mind,
Where honour's self is proudly shrined,
O'er others sheds its radiance rare,
And deems the light is native there.
Where honour's self is proudly shrined,
O'er others sheds its radiance rare,
And deems the light is native there.
Yet I must shrink, in shame and pride,
From praise by conscience still denied,
And rather half your faith forego
Than lure it by a hollow show.
From praise by conscience still denied,
And rather half your faith forego
Than lure it by a hollow show.
218
And since not all is dark within,
Some dear esteem I still may win,
Divested of the halo thrown,
By your warm heart, around my own.
Some dear esteem I still may win,
Divested of the halo thrown,
By your warm heart, around my own.
And truth to tell, (you'd have me true?)
I look for loftier gifts from you,
And wait for music sweeter far
Than softest words of flattery are.
I look for loftier gifts from you,
And wait for music sweeter far
Than softest words of flattery are.
The lightest modulation lent
By heart to voice on truth intent,—
The faintest cadence Love lets fall
On one low tone, is worth them all.
By heart to voice on truth intent,—
The faintest cadence Love lets fall
On one low tone, is worth them all.
And oh! so high a hope is mine!—
The boon my spirit claims from thine
Is not the fleeting love of earth,
But friendship that has holier birth.
The boon my spirit claims from thine
Is not the fleeting love of earth,
But friendship that has holier birth.
When soul meets soul in happier clime,
Where truth unveil'd shall walk sublime,
How may my conscious spirit brook
The frank, calm questioning of your look,
Where truth unveil'd shall walk sublime,
How may my conscious spirit brook
The frank, calm questioning of your look,
219
If vainly, in its form and face,
You seek for some imagined grace,
And miss the beauty, rare and dear,
Your own rich fancy lent it here!
You seek for some imagined grace,
And miss the beauty, rare and dear,
Your own rich fancy lent it here!
Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | ||