 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
PHILLIS, MY DARLING.
The memory of age has beneficent uses,
And events of the past in our mind reproduces,
Till they rush as the mill-waters flow through their sluices,
And joys long departed bring back to our ken;
The loved and the lost in our vision are vivid,
The red blood of life paints the lips that are livid,
And eyes that are closed beam in beauty again.
And events of the past in our mind reproduces,
Till they rush as the mill-waters flow through their sluices,
And joys long departed bring back to our ken;
The loved and the lost in our vision are vivid,
The red blood of life paints the lips that are livid,
And eyes that are closed beam in beauty again.
The foremost is Phillis, my darling, my charmer,
Whose innocence formed her invincible armor;
There lived not a creature who offered to harm her,
To hurt with a glance, or to wound with a word;
A being of impulse, yet faithful to duty,
Her mind matched her face in its impress of beauty,
Till hearts all around her to loving were stirred.
Whose innocence formed her invincible armor;
There lived not a creature who offered to harm her,
To hurt with a glance, or to wound with a word;
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Her mind matched her face in its impress of beauty,
Till hearts all around her to loving were stirred.
The beautiful Phillis! No mortal was sweeter;
The rose in its loveliness never completer;
Her words flowed unknowing to musical metre;
Her glances to sunlight, that brightened and blessed;
What hope was for me, a rude stripling who tended
My kine and my flocks? Yet my worship ascended
As I bent and I bowed at the shrine with the rest.
The rose in its loveliness never completer;
Her words flowed unknowing to musical metre;
Her glances to sunlight, that brightened and blessed;
What hope was for me, a rude stripling who tended
My kine and my flocks? Yet my worship ascended
As I bent and I bowed at the shrine with the rest.
Yet I fancied at times, for our love feeds our fancies,
And my brain took the feelings that come of romances,
That she dropped, in her mercy, some favoring glances,
And fed through her pity, the love in my heart;
And no knight of poor fortune a proud princess serving,
His passion to deeds of high derring-do nerving,
More manfully played his disconsolate part.
And my brain took the feelings that come of romances,
That she dropped, in her mercy, some favoring glances,
And fed through her pity, the love in my heart;
And no knight of poor fortune a proud princess serving,
His passion to deeds of high derring-do nerving,
More manfully played his disconsolate part.
The fetters that bound me they galled in the wearing;
I grew helpless and blind; but the depth of despairing
Engendered within me a fever of daring;
I would speak, though she crushed me with anger and scorn;
So there at the twilight I sought her and told her
(How my arms ached that moment to fondly enfold her!)
My passion, and turned, feeling lost and forlorn.
I grew helpless and blind; but the depth of despairing
Engendered within me a fever of daring;
I would speak, though she crushed me with anger and scorn;
So there at the twilight I sought her and told her
(How my arms ached that moment to fondly enfold her!)
My passion, and turned, feeling lost and forlorn.
Came the words, quick and joyous, amid my abasement:
“You love me, then, Laurence!” I turned in amazement;
There she stood, framed in mist, in the half-open casement,
Her features transfigured, her eyes filled with light.
O, triumph, O, rapture! the memory thrills me,
And, forty years gone, with its happiness fills me,
And youth has returned, and the future is bright.
“You love me, then, Laurence!” I turned in amazement;
There she stood, framed in mist, in the half-open casement,
Her features transfigured, her eyes filled with light.
O, triumph, O, rapture! the memory thrills me,
And, forty years gone, with its happiness fills me,
And youth has returned, and the future is bright.
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Ah! who would not spurn honor, riches and glory,
For the power to recall when our locks have grown hoary,
The rapture that followed the ever-new story,
When told to the damsel we loved in our youth,
When our frame thrilled to madness at favoring glances,
When the meetings of lovers were magical trances,
When life was all fancies, and fancies were truth.
For the power to recall when our locks have grown hoary,
The rapture that followed the ever-new story,
When told to the damsel we loved in our youth,
When our frame thrilled to madness at favoring glances,
When the meetings of lovers were magical trances,
When life was all fancies, and fancies were truth.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |