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17. | XVII. GAY GIRLS ARE WREATHING. |
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Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | ||
XVII. GAY GIRLS ARE WREATHING.
Gay girls are wreathing flowers in their hair;
Fond lips are breathing the wish—the prayer.
Fond lips are breathing the wish—the prayer.
Lonely, the laughter, the revel, I shun;
One stealeth after—how welcome that one!
One stealeth after—how welcome that one!
Far away gleaming, the dancers flit by;
Here sit we dreaming—Memory and I.
Here sit we dreaming—Memory and I.
Fair beads of amber she counteth the while,
In the still chamber, with sigh and smile;
In the still chamber, with sigh and smile;
And, as she telleth her rosary o'er,
Wild my heart dwelleth on hours of yore.
Wild my heart dwelleth on hours of yore.
Some wingéd treasure, that flew from my arms,
Some perish'd pleasure, each bead embalms.
Some perish'd pleasure, each bead embalms.
377
All hopes I cherish'd there find a tomb,
One by one perish'd in glory and bloom.
One by one perish'd in glory and bloom.
Sound harp and viol! speed the bright hours!
Life's sunny dial they count by flowers.
Life's sunny dial they count by flowers.
They—the light-hearted!—ah! dearer to me
Dreams of the parted than all their wild glee.
Dreams of the parted than all their wild glee.
Still, the past haunts me! Mid all Hope can say,
Memory chants me a lovelier lay.
Memory chants me a lovelier lay.
Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | ||