 | [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet |  |
TO THE SUN
I love thee in thy dying hour,
For then thou speak'st of death to me;
And when thou light'st the coral bower
Which rises 'neath the waveless sea,
I love thee more, for thou dost thine
On things like this poor heart of mine.
For then thou speak'st of death to me;
And when thou light'st the coral bower
Which rises 'neath the waveless sea,
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On things like this poor heart of mine.
I love thee, Sun—when thou dost come,
Fresh from thy sleep, to chase the mist
Which hovered like a fearful gnome,
On mountain tops thy beams have kissed.
For then thy glow is on the grave
Of her I loved—where wild flowers wave.
Fresh from thy sleep, to chase the mist
Which hovered like a fearful gnome,
On mountain tops thy beams have kissed.
For then thy glow is on the grave
Of her I loved—where wild flowers wave.
Shine on—and may thy glory pour
Its tide full soon upon the place
Which marks that my career is o'er,
With all its woe—its bitterness—
And then, sweet Ellen, I shall be
Above yon stars, at peace with thee.
Its tide full soon upon the place
Which marks that my career is o'er,
With all its woe—its bitterness—
And then, sweet Ellen, I shall be
Above yon stars, at peace with thee.
I love thee, Sun,—thy daily course
Assists the flagging wings of Time;
Thou wast of him the cause, the source,
To cheer his way through every clime.
Oh Sun! thou canst not cheer my gloom,
Unless thy ray rests on my tomb.
Assists the flagging wings of Time;
Thou wast of him the cause, the source,
To cheer his way through every clime.
Oh Sun! thou canst not cheer my gloom,
Unless thy ray rests on my tomb.
Boston Statesman, August 4, 1827
| [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet | |