 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
THE FAREWELL.
We met as strangers, lady, not as strangers do we part;
Long will thy memory remain enshrined within my heart;
Else would not these unbidden tears beneath mine eyelids swell,
As standing on the pebbly shore, I breathe my sad farewell.
Long will thy memory remain enshrined within my heart;
Else would not these unbidden tears beneath mine eyelids swell,
As standing on the pebbly shore, I breathe my sad farewell.
We met as strangers, but that heart must be as winter cold,
Which asks revolving years before love's blossoms can unfold;
A look, a word, a simple tone, oft wakes the spirit's strings,
And calls forth all the melody from sympathy that springs.
Which asks revolving years before love's blossoms can unfold;
A look, a word, a simple tone, oft wakes the spirit's strings,
And calls forth all the melody from sympathy that springs.
The chambers of mine imagery an added treasure show;
Thy graceful form in pictured there, thy calm and cloudless brow;
Traced by affection's skillful hand, illumed by memory's light,
Fadeless those tints will still be found when years have sped their flight.
Thy graceful form in pictured there, thy calm and cloudless brow;
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Fadeless those tints will still be found when years have sped their flight.
O! dark indeed would be this world, did we not sometimes find
That best of all earth's fairy gifts, a gentle kindred mind;
And though we only meet to part, yet pleasant thoughts remain
To cheer our onward path when time has strewed that path with pain.
That best of all earth's fairy gifts, a gentle kindred mind;
And though we only meet to part, yet pleasant thoughts remain
To cheer our onward path when time has strewed that path with pain.
Farewell, sweet friend; I speak the word with vain but fond regret;
It may be long ere we shall meet again as we have met;
But at the quiet evening hour, O! let my memory seem
The half traced image of a past and not unpleasing dream.
It may be long ere we shall meet again as we have met;
But at the quiet evening hour, O! let my memory seem
The half traced image of a past and not unpleasing dream.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |