 | Poems |  |
35
LINES, ON LEAVING AN OBSCURE RETIREMENT.
Unsightly chamber! gloomy, narrow, bare,
Dark guardian of my rest;
Ah! though my hours, in thee, by moody care
And anguish were oppress'd,
Yet, now, that I'm about from thee to sever,
I feel a pang to think it is—for ever!
Dark guardian of my rest;
Ah! though my hours, in thee, by moody care
And anguish were oppress'd,
Yet, now, that I'm about from thee to sever,
I feel a pang to think it is—for ever!
For, oh! there is no thing so lorn and rude,
Taught or untaught,
That hath been with us in our solitude
And known our thought,
But feeling hearts will find themselves o'ercast
At taking the farewell they deem—the last!
Taught or untaught,
That hath been with us in our solitude
And known our thought,
But feeling hearts will find themselves o'ercast
At taking the farewell they deem—the last!
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