[Poems by Osgood in] The ladies' wreath a selection from the female poetic writers of England and America |
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STANZAS. |
 | [Poems by Osgood in] The ladies' wreath |  |
STANZAS.
When the warm blessed spirit that lightens the sky,
Hath darkened his glory, and furled up his wing,
And nature forgets the sweet smile, that her eye
Was wont on that radiant spirit to fling,—
Hath darkened his glory, and furled up his wing,
And nature forgets the sweet smile, that her eye
Was wont on that radiant spirit to fling,—
I turn from the world without, calm and content,
And find in my own heart a day-dream as bright;
And dearer, far dearer than that which is lent
To illumine creation with glory and light.
And find in my own heart a day-dream as bright;
And dearer, far dearer than that which is lent
To illumine creation with glory and light.
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There's a thought in that heart it can never forget—
There's a ray in that heart that will lighten my doom;
Through many a sorrow they linger there yet,
And, holy and beautiful, smile through the gloom.
There's a ray in that heart that will lighten my doom;
Through many a sorrow they linger there yet,
And, holy and beautiful, smile through the gloom.
But they say that the garland Affection is wreathing,
Will fade ere the morrow has wakened its bloom—
They say the wild blossoms where young Hope is breathing,
Their beauty, their fragrance are all for the tomb.
Will fade ere the morrow has wakened its bloom—
They say the wild blossoms where young Hope is breathing,
Their beauty, their fragrance are all for the tomb.
They tell me the vision of Bliss that is “glinting,”
My heart's star of promise in gloom will decline;
And the far scene that Fancy, the fairy, is tinting,
Will lose all its sunny glow ere it is mine.
My heart's star of promise in gloom will decline;
And the far scene that Fancy, the fairy, is tinting,
Will lose all its sunny glow ere it is mine.
Oh! if Love and Life be but a fairy illusion,
And the cold future bright but in Fancy's young eye,
Still, still let me live in the dreamy illusion,
And, true and unchanging, hope on till I die!
And the cold future bright but in Fancy's young eye,
Still, still let me live in the dreamy illusion,
And, true and unchanging, hope on till I die!
| [Poems by Osgood in] The ladies' wreath | |