 | [The plaint of love, in] The cypress wreath |  |
60
THE PLAINT OF LOVE.
Blossoms of peace, once in my pathway springing,
Where have your brightness and your splendor gone?
And thou, whose voice to me came sweet as singing,
What region holds thee, in the vast unknown?
What star far brighter than the rest contains thee,
Beloved, departed—empress of my heart?
What bond of full beatitude enchains thee,—
In realms unveil'd by pen, or prophet's art?
Where have your brightness and your splendor gone?
And thou, whose voice to me came sweet as singing,
What region holds thee, in the vast unknown?
What star far brighter than the rest contains thee,
Beloved, departed—empress of my heart?
What bond of full beatitude enchains thee,—
In realms unveil'd by pen, or prophet's art?
Ah! loved and lost! in these autumnal hours,
When fairy colors deck the fading tree,
When the vast woodlands seem a sea of flowers,
O! then my soul, exulting, bounds to thee!
Springs, as to clasp thee yet in this existence,
Yet to behold thee at my lonely side;
But the fond vision melts at once to distance,
And my sad heart gives echo—she has died!
When fairy colors deck the fading tree,
When the vast woodlands seem a sea of flowers,
O! then my soul, exulting, bounds to thee!
Springs, as to clasp thee yet in this existence,
Yet to behold thee at my lonely side;
But the fond vision melts at once to distance,
And my sad heart gives echo—she has died!
Yes! when the morning of her years was brightest,
That angel-presence into dust went down,—
While yet with rosy dreams her rest was lightest,
Death for the olive wove the cypress-crown,—
Sleep, which no waking knows, o'ercame her bosom,
O'ercame her large, bright, spiritual eyes;
Spared in her bower connubial one fair blossom,
Then bore her spirit to the upper skies.
That angel-presence into dust went down,—
While yet with rosy dreams her rest was lightest,
Death for the olive wove the cypress-crown,—
61
O'ercame her large, bright, spiritual eyes;
Spared in her bower connubial one fair blossom,
Then bore her spirit to the upper skies.
There let me meet her, when, life's struggles over,
The pure in love and thought their faith renew,
Where man's forgiving and redeeming Lover
Spreads out his paradise to every view.
Let the dim autumn, with its leaves descending,
Howl on the winter's verge!—yet spring will come:
So my freed soul, no more 'gainst fate contending,
With all it loveth shall regain its home!
The pure in love and thought their faith renew,
Where man's forgiving and redeeming Lover
Spreads out his paradise to every view.
Let the dim autumn, with its leaves descending,
Howl on the winter's verge!—yet spring will come:
So my freed soul, no more 'gainst fate contending,
With all it loveth shall regain its home!
| [The plaint of love, in] The cypress wreath | |