 | Poems in Love's looking glass |  |
147
MELANCHOLIA
How like December fog my vague surmise
O'ercrept our world, and blotted out the day,
Till love irradiant from thy clear eyes
Purged it and hung in crystals, clear as they.
And though in hues too white the world was dressed,
Not spring-like blossoming, but slumber-drowned,
I joyed in beauty I should ne'er have guessed
Had not my loss thy dear redemption found.
O'ercrept our world, and blotted out the day,
Till love irradiant from thy clear eyes
Purged it and hung in crystals, clear as they.
And though in hues too white the world was dressed,
Not spring-like blossoming, but slumber-drowned,
I joyed in beauty I should ne'er have guessed
Had not my loss thy dear redemption found.
Ah, love! when all is done that love can do,
The world grows dim again, and dense the air:
A foggy cloud still mantles, hiding you,
And chiller falls the damp of my despair.
Would only heaven have pity, as I pray,
And send its wind to blow this mist away.
The world grows dim again, and dense the air:
A foggy cloud still mantles, hiding you,
And chiller falls the damp of my despair.
Would only heaven have pity, as I pray,
And send its wind to blow this mist away.
| Poems in Love's looking glass | |