 | Poems |  |
88
THE LOVER'S PRAYER.
Oh, turn not thus, turn not from me,
For that I'm sad and dark of mood—
A thing of tears and mystery,
Of silence and of solitude.
For that I'm sad and dark of mood—
A thing of tears and mystery,
Of silence and of solitude.
I would not grieve thy gentler heart
With the trouble of mine own;
Sorrow and I can seldom part—
Then let us meet alone!
With the trouble of mine own;
Sorrow and I can seldom part—
Then let us meet alone!
Yet, let not these enforced revealings
Chase from thy cheek the radiant glow;
Was't my fault if my heart's best feelings
Proved its worst fates?—Ah, surely, no!
Chase from thy cheek the radiant glow;
Was't my fault if my heart's best feelings
Proved its worst fates?—Ah, surely, no!
89
Then, turn not thou aside that face,
All eloquent of purest love!
Vainly my mind hath searched through space
For joy—it ne'er might prove!
All eloquent of purest love!
Vainly my mind hath searched through space
For joy—it ne'er might prove!
Now, peace my wounded spirit craves,—
That long hath mourned, and sighed
Like night-winds over nameless graves,
Whence no voice e'er replied!
That long hath mourned, and sighed
Like night-winds over nameless graves,
Whence no voice e'er replied!
And wilt thou turn from this crushed mind,
And from this long o'ertroubled heart?
Wilt thou be more than all—unkind?
Part we? Say, must we part?
And from this long o'ertroubled heart?
Wilt thou be more than all—unkind?
Part we? Say, must we part?
Then, darker, sadder far of mood,
Shall I, of all bereft, become—
The sweet star of my solitude,
The one flower of my living tomb!
Shall I, of all bereft, become—
The sweet star of my solitude,
The one flower of my living tomb!
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