 | The lost pleiad ; and other poems |  |
ON THE DEATH OF MY FIRST-BORN.
“I never shall smile more!”—
Wilson.
Wilson.
She died in beauty, like the Moon
Upon the first night of her birth,
Whose presence gladdens all, when soon
It vanishes away from earth!
And like the night, when she is gone,
Thine absence leaves me here alone
In darkness, darker than the night
Just alter she has sunk from sight!
Upon the first night of her birth,
Whose presence gladdens all, when soon
It vanishes away from earth!
And like the night, when she is gone,
Thine absence leaves me here alone
In darkness, darker than the night
Just alter she has sunk from sight!
She died in beauty, like some flower
New-blown upon its parent stem,
Whose leaves have blossomed for an hour—
Nipped by some frost which withers them!
And as the stem, thus left alone,
Will barren look when it is gone;
So does my soul for thine, sweet Dove!
Now shining in the heavens above!
New-blown upon its parent stem,
Whose leaves have blossomed for an hour—
Nipped by some frost which withers them!
18
Will barren look when it is gone;
So does my soul for thine, sweet Dove!
Now shining in the heavens above!
Oaky Grove, Ga., Sept. 21st, 1840.
| The lost pleiad ; and other poems | |