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 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
132
TO ---.
You would make hearts your stepping-stones to power,
And trample on them in your triumph-hour;
But mine was form'd for nobler fate than this,
It knows the treachery of your Judas-kiss.
And trample on them in your triumph-hour;
But mine was form'd for nobler fate than this,
It knows the treachery of your Judas-kiss.
You talk of “lofty feelings, pure and high—
Too pure, alas!” and then you gently sigh;
You mourn the trials which a soul like yours—
So true—amid the meaner herd endures.
Too pure, alas!” and then you gently sigh;
You mourn the trials which a soul like yours—
So true—amid the meaner herd endures.
You say 'tis sad, but yet you would not part,
For worlds, with that proud dignity of heart!
Now never breathed in woman's breast, I ween,
So poor a spirit, 'neath so bold a mien.
For worlds, with that proud dignity of heart!
Now never breathed in woman's breast, I ween,
So poor a spirit, 'neath so bold a mien.
I've learn'd you well—too well: your serpent-smile
Is fond and fair; but cannot “me beguile.”
I've seen it call'd, and on your soft lip worn,
To win a heart those lips had laugh'd to scorn.
Is fond and fair; but cannot “me beguile.”
I've seen it call'd, and on your soft lip worn,
To win a heart those lips had laugh'd to scorn.
133
I've heard that voice—'tis very sweet, I own,
Almost too much of softness in its tone;
I've heard its tender modulations tried
On one you'd just been slandering—aside.
Almost too much of softness in its tone;
I've heard its tender modulations tried
On one you'd just been slandering—aside.
I've seen you welcome, with that fond embrace,
A friend who trusted in your frank, bright face;
And while her parting steps the threshold press'd,
Her love, her looks, her manners turn'd to jest.
A friend who trusted in your frank, bright face;
And while her parting steps the threshold press'd,
Her love, her looks, her manners turn'd to jest.
You triumph in the noble trick you've found,
Of winning love and trust from all around;
While cold and reckless, with a sneer at heart,
You plead, manœuvre, bind with Circe art.
Of winning love and trust from all around;
While cold and reckless, with a sneer at heart,
You plead, manœuvre, bind with Circe art.
But, day by day, the flimsy veil grows thin,
And clearer shows the worthless waste within;
And one by one, th' idolaters resign
The wavering flame of their Parhelion's shrine.
And clearer shows the worthless waste within;
And one by one, th' idolaters resign
The wavering flame of their Parhelion's shrine.
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |