Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems By the Lady E. Stuart Wortley. In Three Vols |
 | I, II, III. |
|
STANZAS.
|
|
 | Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems |  |
257
STANZAS.
[I ask no pity for my pain—no feeling for my care]
I ask no pity for my pain—no feeling for my care,
Since a luxury of anguish 'tis, and a rapture of despair;
Proud, proud am I, to brook this Grief; and think you I would part
With this rich Sorrow, shrined and throned, like an idol, at my heart.
Since a luxury of anguish 'tis, and a rapture of despair;
Proud, proud am I, to brook this Grief; and think you I would part
With this rich Sorrow, shrined and throned, like an idol, at my heart.
Away! how little then can ye of such sweet sufferings know!
Why, what hath Happiness to give worth such a wealth of Woe?
Each moment 'tis increasing, and each moment it is made
More perfect and more potent—and it shall not know to fade!
Why, what hath Happiness to give worth such a wealth of Woe?
Each moment 'tis increasing, and each moment it is made
More perfect and more potent—and it shall not know to fade!
'Tis a Beatific Sadness this—and a pure and precious Woe—
Oh! what hath Life to give so true, so lasting here below.
Be gay, ye dreamers, all you prize shall vanish from your view,
But those who love pale Sorrow's charms shall find her ever true.
Oh! what hath Life to give so true, so lasting here below.
258
But those who love pale Sorrow's charms shall find her ever true.
Methinks that Sorrow—mighty Power! in her victorious day,
Hath melted all my living Soul—my very Soul away,
And ta'en its place, her own sad self, to live for evermore
Within my bosom's haunted cell, my heart's deep aching core.
Hath melted all my living Soul—my very Soul away,
And ta'en its place, her own sad self, to live for evermore
Within my bosom's haunted cell, my heart's deep aching core.
Be gay! ye dreamers, ye who seek to smile your lives away,
Ye yet may find how hopes delude, how pleasures can betray.
Ah! those like me, to thee who turn pale Sorrow, first and last,
Need never fear the future hour—nor e'er pine for the past!
Ye yet may find how hopes delude, how pleasures can betray.
Ah! those like me, to thee who turn pale Sorrow, first and last,
Need never fear the future hour—nor e'er pine for the past!
I crave no pity for my pain—no feeling for my care,
'Tis a luxury of deep anguish this—and a rapture of despair.
I would not for your vain delights, ye pleasure-lovers part—
With this rich Sorrow of the Soul—this sadness of the heart!
'Tis a luxury of deep anguish this—and a rapture of despair.
I would not for your vain delights, ye pleasure-lovers part—
With this rich Sorrow of the Soul—this sadness of the heart!
| Queen Berengaria's Courtesy, and Other Poems | |