 | Love's token-flowers |  |
86
WHITE POPPY.—Papaver Somniferum.
The Consolation of Forgetfulness.
Oh, for one draught of Lethe now!
Oh, that I might but stoop to lave
The fever of my burning brow,
In dark oblivion's icy wave!
Oh, that I might but stoop to lave
The fever of my burning brow,
In dark oblivion's icy wave!
My heart is filled with doubts and fears,
Haunted by memories of the dead,
And sends too oft its tide of tears
To eyes that now no tears must shed.
Haunted by memories of the dead,
And sends too oft its tide of tears
To eyes that now no tears must shed.
Could I but drink of Lethe's stream,
How gladly would I now forget
The form of many a happy dream,
Whose faded spectre haunts me yet.
How gladly would I now forget
The form of many a happy dream,
Whose faded spectre haunts me yet.
87
Hopes, budding but to be destroyed,
Joys dying e'er they scarce had birth,
Time wasted, talents unemployed,
Love poured like water on the earth:
Joys dying e'er they scarce had birth,
Time wasted, talents unemployed,
Love poured like water on the earth:
These are the thoughts I fain would sink
Beneath oblivion's tideless sea;
How would I grasp the cup, and drink
A last farewell to memory.
Beneath oblivion's tideless sea;
How would I grasp the cup, and drink
A last farewell to memory.
My days are fleeting swiftly by,
My heart's glad youth e'en now is past;
Why should mere breath—a lengthened sigh—
So long the life of life outlast?
My heart's glad youth e'en now is past;
Why should mere breath—a lengthened sigh—
So long the life of life outlast?
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