Tancred A Tale; And Other Poems. By the Author of Conrad, A Tragedy [i.e. Alfred Bunn] |
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TO MISS O'NEILL. |
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TO MISS O'NEILL.
Belov'd of earth, fair summer's rose,In all the pride of beauty glows,
Flinging rich perfume to the sky,
More sweet than gales from Araby.
Oh, tho' the gifted artist tries
To dip his pencil in her dyes,
How vain his skill! no human power
Can give the fragrance to the flower.
Thou art our lov'd, our matchless rose,
Blooming, and fair, and sweet as those
Which Angels cull in blissful bowers,
Of worlds more pure, more blest than ours.
Oh, tho' the Poet's pen can trace
A Muse, a Goddess, or a Grace,
Tho' lovely forms of fairy birth,
Spring from his midnight dreams to earth,
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No mortal yet the power has given
To paint perfection.—Nature's child!
E'en on thy cradle Genius smil'd!
Duteous, affectionate, and fair,
As good and pure as Angels are,
Friend! sister! daughter! all of worth,
That reigns in Heav'n, or smiles on Earth,
In thee is centred!—blessing, blest,
Long may'st thou live, belov'd, carest,
The happiest, as the loveliest!
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