The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson including many pieces never before published. In Three Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
STANZAS Written on the 14th of February, TO MY ONCE DEAR VALENTINE. |
| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson |  |
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STANZAS Written on the 14th of February, TO MY ONCE DEAR VALENTINE.
Come, Hope, and sweep the trembling string;
Drop from thy pinions balm divine;
While, drooping o'er my lyre, I sing
The graces of my Valentine.
Ah! Graces, fatal to my peace,
Why round my heart your mischiefs twine?
Say, barb'rous Love, can aught increase
The triumphs of my Valentine?
Drop from thy pinions balm divine;
While, drooping o'er my lyre, I sing
The graces of my Valentine.
Ah! Graces, fatal to my peace,
Why round my heart your mischiefs twine?
Say, barb'rous Love, can aught increase
The triumphs of my Valentine?
No more about my auburn hair
The sparkling gems shall proudly vie;
The cypress, emblem of Despair,
Shall there a faded chaplet die.
Young dimpled Pleasure quits my breast
To seek some gaudier bow'r than mine,
Where low Caprice, by Fancy drest,
Enthrals my truant Valentine.
The sparkling gems shall proudly vie;
The cypress, emblem of Despair,
Shall there a faded chaplet die.
Young dimpled Pleasure quits my breast
To seek some gaudier bow'r than mine,
Where low Caprice, by Fancy drest,
Enthrals my truant Valentine.
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The frozen brook, the mountain snow,
The pearls that on the thistle shine,
The northern winds, that chilly blow,
Are emblems of my Valentine.
Pale Sorrow sheds the quiv'ring flame
That gleams on Truth's neglected shrine,
Fann'd by those sighs which still proclaim
How much I love thee, Valentine!
The pearls that on the thistle shine,
The northern winds, that chilly blow,
Are emblems of my Valentine.
Pale Sorrow sheds the quiv'ring flame
That gleams on Truth's neglected shrine,
Fann'd by those sighs which still proclaim
How much I love thee, Valentine!
Whene'er the icy hand of Death
Shall grasp this sensate frame of mine,
On my cold lip the fleeting breath
Shall murmur still—“dear Valentine!”
Then o'er my grave, ah! drop one tear,
And sighing write this pensive line—
“A faithful heart lies mould'ring here,
That well deserv'd its Valentine!”
Shall grasp this sensate frame of mine,
On my cold lip the fleeting breath
Shall murmur still—“dear Valentine!”
Then o'er my grave, ah! drop one tear,
And sighing write this pensive line—
“A faithful heart lies mould'ring here,
That well deserv'd its Valentine!”
| The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson | |