The American common-place book of poetry with occasional notes |
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To a young Invalid, condemned, by accidental Lameness, to perpetual Confinement.—Henry Pickering.
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 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
To a young Invalid, condemned, by accidental Lameness, to perpetual Confinement.—Henry Pickering.
“And must he make
That heart a grave, and in it bury deep
Its young and beautiful feelings?”
That heart a grave, and in it bury deep
Its young and beautiful feelings?”
Thine is the spring of life, dear boy,
And thine should be its flowers;
Thine, too, should be the voice of joy,
To hasten on the hours:
And thou, with cheek of rosiest hue,
With winged feet, shouldst still
Thy sometime frolic course pursue
O'er lawn and breezy hill.
And thine should be its flowers;
Thine, too, should be the voice of joy,
To hasten on the hours:
And thou, with cheek of rosiest hue,
With winged feet, shouldst still
Thy sometime frolic course pursue
O'er lawn and breezy hill.
Not so! What means this foolish heart,
And verse as idly vain?
Each hath his own allotted part
Of pleasure and of pain:
And while thou canst the hours beguile,
(Thus patiently reclined,)
I would not quench that languid smile,
Or see thee less resigned.
And verse as idly vain?
Each hath his own allotted part
Of pleasure and of pain:
And while thou canst the hours beguile,
(Thus patiently reclined,)
I would not quench that languid smile,
Or see thee less resigned.
Some are condemned to roam the earth,
A various fate to share,
Scarce destined, from their very birth,
To know a parent's care.
To thee, sweet one, repose was given,
Yet not without alloy;
That thou might'st early think of heaven,
The promised seat of joy;—
A various fate to share,
Scarce destined, from their very birth,
To know a parent's care.
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Yet not without alloy;
That thou might'st early think of heaven,
The promised seat of joy;—
That thou might'st know what love supreme
Pervades a mother's breast—
Flame quenchless as the heavenly beam,
The purest and the best.—
William, that love which shadows thee,
Is eminently mine:
O that my riper life could be
Deserving it as thine!
Pervades a mother's breast—
Flame quenchless as the heavenly beam,
The purest and the best.—
William, that love which shadows thee,
Is eminently mine:
O that my riper life could be
Deserving it as thine!
| The American common-place book of poetry | |