 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
THE WIDOW'S WOOER.
He woos me in the honeyed words
Which women love to hear,
Those gentle flatteries, that fall
So sweet on every ear;
He tells me that my face is fair,
Too fair for grief to shade,
My cheek, he says, was never meant
In sorrow's gloom to fade.
Which women love to hear,
Those gentle flatteries, that fall
So sweet on every ear;
He tells me that my face is fair,
Too fair for grief to shade,
175
In sorrow's gloom to fade.
He stands beside me when I sing
The songs of other days,
And whispers in love's thrilling tones,
The words of heartfelt praise;
And often in my eyes he looks
Some answering love to see;
In vain—he only there can read
The faith of memory.
The songs of other days,
And whispers in love's thrilling tones,
The words of heartfelt praise;
And often in my eyes he looks
Some answering love to see;
In vain—he only there can read
The faith of memory.
He little knows what thoughts awake
With every gentle word,
How by his every tone the founts
Of tenderness are stirred;
The visions of my youth return,
Joys far too bright to last,
And while he speaks of future bliss,
I think but of the past.
With every gentle word,
How by his every tone the founts
Of tenderness are stirred;
The visions of my youth return,
Joys far too bright to last,
And while he speaks of future bliss,
I think but of the past.
Like lamps in Eastern sepulchres,
Amid my heart's deep gloom
Affection sheds its only light
Upon my husband's tomb;
And, as those lamps, if brought once more
To upper air, grow dim,
So my heart's love is cold and dead
Unless it glow for him.
Amid my heart's deep gloom
Affection sheds its only light
Upon my husband's tomb;
And, as those lamps, if brought once more
To upper air, grow dim,
So my heart's love is cold and dead
Unless it glow for him.
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |