 | The Outcast, and other poems |  |
171
GRATITUDE.
TO --- ---
Go gather ye grapes of the barren thorn—
Flowers of the snow-wreath, though winter be rude—
But think not that love or friendship is born—
Or born but to perish—of gratitude!
Flowers of the snow-wreath, though winter be rude—
But think not that love or friendship is born—
Or born but to perish—of gratitude!
The maiden may love though thou dost betray,
And banded thieves to each other be true—
But the heart will never its homage pay,
Where homage, forsooth, may be claimed as due.
And banded thieves to each other be true—
But the heart will never its homage pay,
Where homage, forsooth, may be claimed as due.
Thou wilt pay thy debt, be it silver and gold,—
Thou wilt give, perchance, if thy gift be free—
But whispering pride to thy bosom told
That thy gratitude is but slavery.
Thou wilt give, perchance, if thy gift be free—
But whispering pride to thy bosom told
That thy gratitude is but slavery.
It told thee to cover with seemly words,
The secrets that deep in thy bosom play—
That love is free as the fluttering birds,
And will not be given old debts to pay!
The secrets that deep in thy bosom play—
That love is free as the fluttering birds,
And will not be given old debts to pay!
| The Outcast, and other poems | |