The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed With a Memoir by the Rev. Derwent Coleridge. Fourth Edition. In Two Volumes |
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 | The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed |  |
313
TO THE REV. DERWENT COLERIDGE
ON HIS MARRIAGE.
Who must the beauteous Lady be
That wins that heart of thine?
In a dream, methinks, she comes to me,
Half mortal, half divine,
Robed in a fine and fairy dress
From Fancy's richest store,—
A more becoming garb, I guess,
Than e'er man's mistress wore!
With a step that glides o'er turf and stone
As light as the morning beams,
And a voice whose every whispered tone
Calls up a host of dreams;
And a form which you might safely swear
Young Nature taught to dance,
And dazzling brow and floating hair
Which are themselves romance;
And eyes more eloquently bright
Than ether's brightest star,
With much of genius in their light,
And more of fondness far;
And an untainted love of earth
And all earth's lovely things,
And smiles and tears, whose grief and mirth,
Flow forth from kindred springs;
And a calm heart, so wholly given
To him whose love it wakes,
That through all storms of Fate and Heaven
It bends with his—or breaks.
That wins that heart of thine?
In a dream, methinks, she comes to me,
Half mortal, half divine,
Robed in a fine and fairy dress
From Fancy's richest store,—
A more becoming garb, I guess,
Than e'er man's mistress wore!
With a step that glides o'er turf and stone
As light as the morning beams,
And a voice whose every whispered tone
Calls up a host of dreams;
And a form which you might safely swear
Young Nature taught to dance,
And dazzling brow and floating hair
Which are themselves romance;
314
Than ether's brightest star,
With much of genius in their light,
And more of fondness far;
And an untainted love of earth
And all earth's lovely things,
And smiles and tears, whose grief and mirth,
Flow forth from kindred springs;
And a calm heart, so wholly given
To him whose love it wakes,
That through all storms of Fate and Heaven
It bends with his—or breaks.
Such must the beauteous Lady be
That wins that heart of thine
And is to thy fair destiny
What none may be to mine!
That wins that heart of thine
And is to thy fair destiny
What none may be to mine!
| The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed | |