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18. | XVIII. I CANNOT FORGET HIM. |
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Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | ||
XVIII. I CANNOT FORGET HIM.
I cannot forget him! I've lock'd up my soul;
But not till his image deep, deep in it stole.
But not till his image deep, deep in it stole.
I cannot forget him! The Future can cast
No flower before me so sweet as the Past.
No flower before me so sweet as the Past.
I turn to my books; but his voice, rich and rare,
Is blent with the genius that speaks to me there.
Is blent with the genius that speaks to me there.
I tune my wild lyre; but I think of the praise,
Too precious, too dear, which he lent to my lays.
Too precious, too dear, which he lent to my lays.
I cannot forget him! I try to be gay,
To quell the wild sorrow that rises alway;
To quell the wild sorrow that rises alway;
But wilder and darker it swells, as I try;
If Heaven could forget him, so never can I!
If Heaven could forget him, so never can I!
378
I cannot forget him! I loved him too well!
His smile was endearment, his whisper a spell.
His smile was endearment, his whisper a spell.
I fly from his presence; alas! it is vain;
I see him—I hear him—he's with me again!
I see him—I hear him—he's with me again!
He haunts me for ever; I worship him yet;
Oh! idle endeavour! I cannot forget!
Oh! idle endeavour! I cannot forget!
Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | ||