 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary with introduction and notes |  |
MELODY.
The beautiful eve, in her sparkling tiara,
With dew-dropping fingers is closing the flower,
Where thou, oh! my white-bosomed bird of the prairie,
Art watching and waiting for me in our bower.
With dew-dropping fingers is closing the flower,
Where thou, oh! my white-bosomed bird of the prairie,
Art watching and waiting for me in our bower.
My heart, beating quick as the pulse of the ocean,
Outstrips e'en my courser, to see thee again;
Though his limbs are as lithe and as fleet in their motion
As the barb in the desert, or roe on the plain.
Outstrips e'en my courser, to see thee again;
Though his limbs are as lithe and as fleet in their motion
As the barb in the desert, or roe on the plain.
My heart feels no presage of evil or danger,
For thou never wouldst fly, lovely warbler, from me;
And I hid thee so well that the spoiler and stranger
Could track not the windings which lead me to thee.
For thou never wouldst fly, lovely warbler, from me;
And I hid thee so well that the spoiler and stranger
Could track not the windings which lead me to thee.
Yet faster, my steed: for the starlight discloses
Our bower, but no minstrel its shadows among;—
Yes, something is fluttering like wings in the roses,
And, bird of my bosom! I hear thy sweet song.
Our bower, but no minstrel its shadows among;—
Yes, something is fluttering like wings in the roses,
And, bird of my bosom! I hear thy sweet song.
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary with introduction and notes | |