 | Poems by Sarah Helen Whitman |  |
36
ON A MAGDALEN BY CARLO DOLCE.
Though every line of that sweet, thoughtful face
Seems touched by sorrow to a softer grace;
Though o'er thy cheek's young bloom a blight hath passed,
And dimmed its pensive beauty,—from thine eye,
With the soft gloom of gathering tears o'er-cast,
Doth love shine forth, o'er all, triumphantly;
A light which shame nor sorrow could impair,
Unquenched, undimmed, through years of lone despair.
Seems touched by sorrow to a softer grace;
Though o'er thy cheek's young bloom a blight hath passed,
And dimmed its pensive beauty,—from thine eye,
With the soft gloom of gathering tears o'er-cast,
Doth love shine forth, o'er all, triumphantly;
A light which shame nor sorrow could impair,
Unquenched, undimmed, through years of lone despair.
O love, immortal love! not all in vain
The young heart wastes beneath life's weary chain,
Filled with thy bright ideal,—whose excess
Of beauty mocks our utter loneliness.
The weary bark, long tossing on the shore,
Shall find its haven when the storm is o'er;
The wandering bee its hive, the bird its nest,
And the lone heart of love in heaven its home of rest.
The young heart wastes beneath life's weary chain,
Filled with thy bright ideal,—whose excess
Of beauty mocks our utter loneliness.
37
Shall find its haven when the storm is o'er;
The wandering bee its hive, the bird its nest,
And the lone heart of love in heaven its home of rest.
| Poems by Sarah Helen Whitman | |