The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
STANZAS TO LOVE. |
| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
189
STANZAS TO LOVE.
Tell me, Love, when I rove o'er some far distant plain,
Shall I cherish the passion that dwells in my breast?
Or will Absence subdue the keen rigours of pain,
And the swift wing of Time bring the balsam of rest?
Shall I cherish the passion that dwells in my breast?
Or will Absence subdue the keen rigours of pain,
And the swift wing of Time bring the balsam of rest?
Shall the image of him I was born to adore
Inshrin'd in my bosom my idol still prove!
Or, seduced by caprice, shall fine feeling no more
With the incense of truth gem the altar of Love?
Inshrin'd in my bosom my idol still prove!
Or, seduced by caprice, shall fine feeling no more
With the incense of truth gem the altar of Love?
When I view the deep tint of the dew-dropping rose,
Where the bee sits enamour'd its nectar to sip;
Then, ah say! will not memory fondly disclose
The softer vermilion that glow'd on his lip?
Where the bee sits enamour'd its nectar to sip;
Then, ah say! will not memory fondly disclose
The softer vermilion that glow'd on his lip?
190
Will the Sun, when he rolls in his chariot of fire,
So dazzle my mind with the glare of his rays,
That my senses one moment shall cease to admire
The more perfect refulgence that beam'd in his lays?
So dazzle my mind with the glare of his rays,
That my senses one moment shall cease to admire
The more perfect refulgence that beam'd in his lays?
When the shadows of twilight steal over the plain,
And the Nightingale pours its lorn plaint in the grove;
Ah! will not the fondness that thrills thro' the strain,
Then recall to my mind his dear accents of Love!
And the Nightingale pours its lorn plaint in the grove;
Ah! will not the fondness that thrills thro' the strain,
Then recall to my mind his dear accents of Love!
Then spare, thou sweet Urchin, thou soother of pain,
Oh! spare the soft picture engrav'd on my heart;
As a record of Love let it ever remain;
My bosom thy tablet—thy pencil a dart.
Oh! spare the soft picture engrav'd on my heart;
As a record of Love let it ever remain;
My bosom thy tablet—thy pencil a dart.
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |