 | The Village Churchyard |  |
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LINES ON THE FORGET-ME-NOT.
Flower! a mighty feeling's linked with thee,
Thou 'rt made a Temple unto Memory;
All delicate and fragile as thou art—
And 'midst the emerald glooms of vernal woods,
And flowering depths of shadowy solitudes,
Thou shin'st, and smil'st, a Trophy of the Heart!
Thou 'rt made a Temple unto Memory;
All delicate and fragile as thou art—
And 'midst the emerald glooms of vernal woods,
And flowering depths of shadowy solitudes,
Thou shin'st, and smil'st, a Trophy of the Heart!
Thine's the celestial consecrated hue,
The beautiful, beloved, mysterious blue—
Shared in its exquisite variety—
By ocean in his dread magnificence,
By the most ancient heavens—profound, intense,—
And thee—Ephemeral loveliness! and thee.
The beautiful, beloved, mysterious blue—
Shared in its exquisite variety—
By ocean in his dread magnificence,
By the most ancient heavens—profound, intense,—
And thee—Ephemeral loveliness! and thee.
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Thou hast thy rivals, 'mid the clustering shades!
The thousand flowers that deck those green arcades—
Delaying with their sweets, the woodland bee,
The water-lily, and the cup-moss bright,
The rich wild-hyacinth dyed with rainbowed light,
And the transparent wood-anemone!
The thousand flowers that deck those green arcades—
Delaying with their sweets, the woodland bee,
The water-lily, and the cup-moss bright,
The rich wild-hyacinth dyed with rainbowed light,
And the transparent wood-anemone!
These, to the butterfly and bee are dear,
As thou—when gemmed by morning's living tear,
Or ruffled into sweetness by the breeze;
But, to the human heart thou 'rt dearer far—
Thou twilight-gilding, westward-pointing star,
Dearer than all—than any one of these!
As thou—when gemmed by morning's living tear,
Or ruffled into sweetness by the breeze;
But, to the human heart thou 'rt dearer far—
Thou twilight-gilding, westward-pointing star,
Dearer than all—than any one of these!
Yet wherefore art thou here? thou should'st be found,
Where cumbering ruins load the untrodden ground—
And the old long-ago doth dimly brood!
Where the unblossomed ivy hangs forlorn—
Thick matted with the darkling weed and thorn!
Not in the privacy of this sweet wood.
Where cumbering ruins load the untrodden ground—
And the old long-ago doth dimly brood!
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Thick matted with the darkling weed and thorn!
Not in the privacy of this sweet wood.
Vain thought! where'er we turn, where'er we move,
Some record might be raised to human love;
The unconquerable—universal power,
The mightiest one of all the earth!—no bound
His Reign can limit, nor his Realm surround,
An age of ages were to him, an hour!
Some record might be raised to human love;
The unconquerable—universal power,
The mightiest one of all the earth!—no bound
His Reign can limit, nor his Realm surround,
An age of ages were to him, an hour!
Haply—the delicate elements that form
Thy tender frame—once trembled quick and warm,
Beneath his influence—Lord of the human Lot!
For through full many a shape man's dust doth pass,
And lovelier none than thine—star of thy class;
Sweet, dreamy, spiritual Forget-me-not!
Thy tender frame—once trembled quick and warm,
Beneath his influence—Lord of the human Lot!
For through full many a shape man's dust doth pass,
And lovelier none than thine—star of thy class;
Sweet, dreamy, spiritual Forget-me-not!
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