 | Later Lyrics |  |
101
BLUSHES.
I cannot make him know my love;
Nor from myself conceal
The pangs that rankle in my breast,
Sharper than flame or steel.
Nor from myself conceal
The pangs that rankle in my breast,
Sharper than flame or steel.
Could I but reach a hand to him,
My very finger's thrill
Would close, like tendrils, round the strength
Of his belovèd will.
My very finger's thrill
Would close, like tendrils, round the strength
Of his belovèd will.
Could I but lift mine eyes to his,
My glowing soul, unrolled,
Would flash like sunset on his sight,
In fiery red and gold.
My glowing soul, unrolled,
Would flash like sunset on his sight,
In fiery red and gold.
102
Yet pause, my unflecked soul, and think
How vexed Penelope
Forsook her nuptial joy, that love
Should wait on modesty.
How vexed Penelope
Forsook her nuptial joy, that love
Should wait on modesty.
For gentle souls must keep their bounds,
Nor rudely snatch at bliss:
The very sun should lose his light
In giving it amiss.
Nor rudely snatch at bliss:
The very sun should lose his light
In giving it amiss.
So, when I die, cross tenderly
My palms upon my breast,
And let some faithful hand compose
My tired limbs to rest.
My palms upon my breast,
And let some faithful hand compose
My tired limbs to rest.
But thou shalt fold this kerchief white,
And lay it on my face,
Saying, “She died of love untold;
But she is dead in grace.”
And lay it on my face,
Saying, “She died of love untold;
But she is dead in grace.”
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