 | [Poems by Drake in] The life and works of Joseph Rodman Drake (1795-1820) |  |
267
To My Sister Caroline
I've meant it, believe me, many a time,
Dear Sis, to take the poet's quill,
And waft upon the wings of rhyme
A line to say I love thee still.
But habit, that compelling king,
Stern tyrant of the wills of men,
Had frozen each poetic spring
And struck a palsy in my pen.
My lips were mute; but think not; Sis,
That time could blot a trace, a tone
Of her who was my light, my bliss
When all but hope and her were gone.
Dear Sis, to take the poet's quill,
And waft upon the wings of rhyme
A line to say I love thee still.
But habit, that compelling king,
Stern tyrant of the wills of men,
Had frozen each poetic spring
And struck a palsy in my pen.
My lips were mute; but think not; Sis,
That time could blot a trace, a tone
Of her who was my light, my bliss
When all but hope and her were gone.
Oh! true hearts feel in absence's night,
Affection's pulse more freely play,
Like flowers that, though they love the light,
Bloom brightest when the sun's away.
In days when misery and pain
Had chained me in their icy band,
It was my sweetest pastime then
To wander in the dreamy land,
To mount the rainbow-curtained car
By Fancy to her children given,
And in the twinkling of a star
Shut out dull earth, and welcome Heaven.
Affection's pulse more freely play,
Like flowers that, though they love the light,
268
In days when misery and pain
Had chained me in their icy band,
It was my sweetest pastime then
To wander in the dreamy land,
To mount the rainbow-curtained car
By Fancy to her children given,
And in the twinkling of a star
Shut out dull earth, and welcome Heaven.
Well may you guess my resting-place,
My land of bliss, my fairy ground;
Well may a sister's fancy trace
The hearts, the forms that girt me round.
And in that ideal land I dwelt
So long that I had gained the art
To wander at my will, and melt
The ice that gathered round my heart
In the kind looks that blessed me there;
For they had power to drown the past,
And point to prospects bright and fair,
To bless the longing heart at last.
And sometimes when an earthly pain
Would wake me from my dream of bliss,
I'd call my pleasures back again
In some such idle rhyme as this.
My land of bliss, my fairy ground;
Well may a sister's fancy trace
The hearts, the forms that girt me round.
And in that ideal land I dwelt
So long that I had gained the art
To wander at my will, and melt
The ice that gathered round my heart
In the kind looks that blessed me there;
For they had power to drown the past,
And point to prospects bright and fair,
To bless the longing heart at last.
And sometimes when an earthly pain
Would wake me from my dream of bliss,
I'd call my pleasures back again
In some such idle rhyme as this.
| [Poems by Drake in] The life and works of Joseph Rodman Drake (1795-1820) | |