 | [Poems by Whittier in] Flora's interpreter : or, The American book of flowers and sentiments |  |
116
Sentiment [I bring no gift of passion]
I bring no gift of passion,
I breathe no tone of love,
But the freshness and the purity
Of a feeling far above.
I love to turn to thee, fair girl,
As one within whose heart
Earth had no stain of vanity,
And fickleness no part.
I breathe no tone of love,
But the freshness and the purity
Of a feeling far above.
I love to turn to thee, fair girl,
As one within whose heart
Earth had no stain of vanity,
And fickleness no part.
O, save to one familiar friend,
Thy heart its veil should wear,
The faithless vow be all unheard,—
The flattery wasted there;
Heeding the homage of the vain
As lightly as some star,
Whose steady radiance changes not,
Though thousands kneel afar.
Thy heart its veil should wear,
The faithless vow be all unheard,—
The flattery wasted there;
Heeding the homage of the vain
As lightly as some star,
Whose steady radiance changes not,
Though thousands kneel afar.
182
Sentiment [Thou art beautiful, young lady]
Thou art beautiful, young lady;—
But I need not tell thee this,
For few have borne unconsciously
Their spell of loveliness;
And thou art very happy,
For life's sky is bright above thee,
Affection's smile is round thee,
And all who know thee love thee.
But I need not tell thee this,
For few have borne unconsciously
Their spell of loveliness;
And thou art very happy,
For life's sky is bright above thee,
Affection's smile is round thee,
And all who know thee love thee.
Thou are not here—and yet methinks
Thy form is floating by,
With the dark tress shading pleasantly
The softly brilliant eye:
A smile is sleeping on thy lip—
And a faint blush melting through
The light of thy transparent cheek,
Like a rose-leaf bathed in dew.
Thy form is floating by,
With the dark tress shading pleasantly
The softly brilliant eye:
A smile is sleeping on thy lip—
And a faint blush melting through
The light of thy transparent cheek,
Like a rose-leaf bathed in dew.
206
Sentiment [Oh, much I fear thy guileless heart, its earnestness of feeling]
Oh, much I fear thy guileless heart, its earnestness of feeling,
Its passions and its sympathies to every eye revealing—
I tremble for that winning smile, and trusting glance of thine,
And pray that none but faithful ones may bow before thy shrine.
Its passions and its sympathies to every eye revealing—
I tremble for that winning smile, and trusting glance of thine,
And pray that none but faithful ones may bow before thy shrine.
Oh! when the breath of flattery is warm upon thine ear,
And manly brows are bending in humble homage near,
May no dream of tenderness arise, which earth may not fulfil,
And no fountain open in thy heart, which Time hath power to chill.
And manly brows are bending in humble homage near,
May no dream of tenderness arise, which earth may not fulfil,
And no fountain open in thy heart, which Time hath power to chill.
| [Poems by Whittier in] Flora's interpreter : or, The American book of flowers and sentiments | |