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THE STARLIGHT AND MUSIC OF HOME. |
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 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
148
THE STARLIGHT AND MUSIC OF HOME.
Nay, lure me not again within the glare
Of the world-life, that gladly I forego;
Not mine the soul that seeks its solace there,
In merrier hours I shrank from all its show.
Of the world-life, that gladly I forego;
Not mine the soul that seeks its solace there,
In merrier hours I shrank from all its show.
And now, when worn and weary with the strife
That every true and earnest heart must meet,
I have no strength to turn from this still life
And brave the bustle of saloon or street.
That every true and earnest heart must meet,
I have no strength to turn from this still life
And brave the bustle of saloon or street.
Let those—the gay, the young—who only see
Its radiant roses, NOT the snake below—
Who hear no discord in the music's glee,
Nor dream of danger—through its mazes go.
Its radiant roses, NOT the snake below—
Who hear no discord in the music's glee,
Nor dream of danger—through its mazes go.
They will be lull'd awhile, and wake like me
From the sweet trust—the unquestioning delight,
The fearless, childlike faith—to feel, to see
How more than mockery is that pageant bright.
From the sweet trust—the unquestioning delight,
The fearless, childlike faith—to feel, to see
How more than mockery is that pageant bright.
149
I have a dearer melody to listen,
Where no false note can mar the music tide;
A starry gleam around my way doth glisten,
For childhood's voice and smile are by my side.
Where no false note can mar the music tide;
A starry gleam around my way doth glisten,
For childhood's voice and smile are by my side.
At eve, when in the hush'd and hallow'd room,
Hallow'd by love and faith, our circle sits,
When from the hearth comes glory through the gloom,
A fair child-angel round us softly flits,
Hallow'd by love and faith, our circle sits,
When from the hearth comes glory through the gloom,
A fair child-angel round us softly flits,
Mute like a vision, save when shade of sorrow
Saddens the face she loves—then stealing near,
She kisses—murmuring of a happier morrow—
From brow and heart the shadow and the fear.
Saddens the face she loves—then stealing near,
She kisses—murmuring of a happier morrow—
From brow and heart the shadow and the fear.
And on my bosom nestling, clings to bless me,
A rosy, radiant darling, with dark eyes,
And voice whose every cadence doth caress me,
And smile that gladdens like a clear sunrise.
A rosy, radiant darling, with dark eyes,
And voice whose every cadence doth caress me,
And smile that gladdens like a clear sunrise.
And if I miss the dear face of another,
The fairyest shape that ever lit below,
Who, ere her sweet lips learn'd to murmur mother,
Died like a dream of loveliness and wo,—
The fairyest shape that ever lit below,
Who, ere her sweet lips learn'd to murmur mother,
Died like a dream of loveliness and wo,—
150
And if I weep—their little arms are winding
Around me, while in whispers low with love
They talk of heaven and its new angel, finding
All lovely flowers to light her path above.
Around me, while in whispers low with love
They talk of heaven and its new angel, finding
All lovely flowers to light her path above.
And so, I would not change, for all the glare
Of the world-life, its pomp and sound and show,
One ray of those pure smiles my dear ones wear,
One tone of their true voices, soft and low.
Of the world-life, its pomp and sound and show,
One ray of those pure smiles my dear ones wear,
One tone of their true voices, soft and low.
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |