 | Poems lyric and idyllic |  |
128
THE ALBUM.
The Winter had but just begun,
The hills with snow were white,
Far southward sank the Christmas sun
When first you bid me—“Write!”
And, Lady, I had little thought
That Spring its zephyrs would have brought,
Its birds and sunny hours,
Before the Album would have flown,
Like carrier-dove, unto its own,
With all its gathered flowers.
The hills with snow were white,
Far southward sank the Christmas sun
When first you bid me—“Write!”
And, Lady, I had little thought
That Spring its zephyrs would have brought,
Its birds and sunny hours,
Before the Album would have flown,
Like carrier-dove, unto its own,
With all its gathered flowers.
But I have waited lingeringly,
While many a Winter's day,
And many a night, have speeded by
In ominous array.
Weeks have I loitered, till for shame
I hardly dare to scrawl my name,
Or bow me at your throne;
Yet, Lady, I can featly prove,
By every gallant law of Love,
The fault is all your own.
While many a Winter's day,
And many a night, have speeded by
129
Weeks have I loitered, till for shame
I hardly dare to scrawl my name,
Or bow me at your throne;
Yet, Lady, I can featly prove,
By every gallant law of Love,
The fault is all your own.
For I have not delayed so long
Without a thought of duty,
But oft have tried to pen a song
In honor of your beauty,
Which, in whatever mood or guise,
Still seems diviner, to these eyes,
Than to her Numa seemed
Egeria's—beside the rill
That, from their green Arician hill,
Forever gushed and gleamed.
Without a thought of duty,
But oft have tried to pen a song
In honor of your beauty,
Which, in whatever mood or guise,
Still seems diviner, to these eyes,
Than to her Numa seemed
Egeria's—beside the rill
That, from their green Arician hill,
Forever gushed and gleamed.
But still sweet thoughts will fill one's mind,
Whene'er, in rhyming mood,
I take your book, and feel inclined
To make my promise good:
Sweet thoughts, like elves that wizards raise,
Charming away the lonely days
With pleasant witchery:—
That form has bent above this book,
Those eyes have given it many a look,
That face has smiled on me!
Whene'er, in rhyming mood,
I take your book, and feel inclined
130
Sweet thoughts, like elves that wizards raise,
Charming away the lonely days
With pleasant witchery:—
That form has bent above this book,
Those eyes have given it many a look,
That face has smiled on me!
That hand has dallied with these leaves,
And idly turned them o'er:
What wonder that your poet grieves
The Album to restore!
These halcyon thoughts I would not lose,
And wayward Fancy still pursues
The memory of that smile,
Till I am fain to close the book,
And the fond song I undertook
Defer a longer while.
And idly turned them o'er:
What wonder that your poet grieves
The Album to restore!
These halcyon thoughts I would not lose,
And wayward Fancy still pursues
The memory of that smile,
Till I am fain to close the book,
And the fond song I undertook
Defer a longer while.
You could not blame me, should I keep
Your Album always nigh,
Else spoil the ruby of your lip,
And dim that lustrous eye!
For myriad memories will throng
In graceful groups;—the flowing song
Give place to tender dreams,
That supersede the minstrel's art—
Throw golden chains around his heart,
And kindle future themes.
Your Album always nigh,
Else spoil the ruby of your lip,
131
For myriad memories will throng
In graceful groups;—the flowing song
Give place to tender dreams,
That supersede the minstrel's art—
Throw golden chains around his heart,
And kindle future themes.
| Poems lyric and idyllic | |