 | The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey |  |
ONCE UPON A TIME.
Sunny locks of brightest hue
Once around my temples grew;—
Laugh not, lady, for 'tis true;
Laugh not, lady, for with thee
Time may deal despitefully;
Time, if long he lead thee here,
May subdue that mirthful cheer;
Round those laughing lips and eyes
Time may write sad histories;
Deep indent that even brow,
Change those locks, so sunny now,
To as dark and dull a shade,
As on mine his touch hath laid.
Lady! yes, these locks of mine
Clustered once with golden shine
Temples, neck, and shoulders round,
Richly gushing if unbound,
If from band and bodkin free,
Wellnigh downward to the knee.
Some there were took fond delight
Sporting with those tresses bright,
To enring with living gold
Fingers now beneath the mould,
Woe is me! grown icy cold.
Once around my temples grew;—
Laugh not, lady, for 'tis true;
Laugh not, lady, for with thee
Time may deal despitefully;
Time, if long he lead thee here,
May subdue that mirthful cheer;
Round those laughing lips and eyes
Time may write sad histories;
Deep indent that even brow,
Change those locks, so sunny now,
To as dark and dull a shade,
As on mine his touch hath laid.
Lady! yes, these locks of mine
Clustered once with golden shine
172
Richly gushing if unbound,
If from band and bodkin free,
Wellnigh downward to the knee.
Some there were took fond delight
Sporting with those tresses bright,
To enring with living gold
Fingers now beneath the mould,
Woe is me! grown icy cold.
One dear hand hath smoothed them too
Since they lost the sunny hue,
Since their bright abundance fell
Under the destroying spell—
One dear hand! the tenderest
Ever nurse child rocked to rest,
Ever wiped away its tears,
Even those of later years.
From a cheek untimely hollow,
Bitter drops that still may follow,
Where's the hand will wipe away?
Hers I kissed, ah! dismal day,
Pale as on the shroud it lay.
Then, methought, youth's latest gleam
Departed from me like a dream.
Still, though lost their sunny tone,
Glossy brown those tresses shone,
Here and there, in wave and ring,
Golden threads still glittering;
And, from band and bodkin free,
Still they flowed luxuriantly.
Since they lost the sunny hue,
Since their bright abundance fell
Under the destroying spell—
One dear hand! the tenderest
Ever nurse child rocked to rest,
Ever wiped away its tears,
Even those of later years.
From a cheek untimely hollow,
Bitter drops that still may follow,
Where's the hand will wipe away?
Hers I kissed, ah! dismal day,
Pale as on the shroud it lay.
Then, methought, youth's latest gleam
Departed from me like a dream.
Still, though lost their sunny tone,
Glossy brown those tresses shone,
Here and there, in wave and ring,
Golden threads still glittering;
And, from band and bodkin free,
Still they flowed luxuriantly.
Careful days, and wakeful nights,
Early trenched on young delights.
Then of ills an endless train,
Wasting languor, wearying pain,
Feverish thought that racks the brain,
Crowding all on summer's prime,
Made me old before my time.
So a dull, unlovely hue
O'er the sunny tresses grew,
Thinned their rich abundance too.
Not a thread of golden light
In the sunshine glancing bright.
Early trenched on young delights.
173
Wasting languor, wearying pain,
Feverish thought that racks the brain,
Crowding all on summer's prime,
Made me old before my time.
So a dull, unlovely hue
O'er the sunny tresses grew,
Thinned their rich abundance too.
Not a thread of golden light
In the sunshine glancing bright.
Now again a shining streak
'Gins the dusky cloud to break;
Here and there a glittering thread
Lights the ringlets, dark and dead—
Glittering light! but pale and cold—
Glittering thread! but not of gold.
'Gins the dusky cloud to break;
Here and there a glittering thread
Lights the ringlets, dark and dead—
Glittering light! but pale and cold—
Glittering thread! but not of gold.
Silent warning! silvery streak,
Not unheeded dost thou speak.
Not with feelings light and vain,
Not with fond regretful pain,
Look I on the token sent
To declare the day far spent.
Dark and troubled hath it been;
Sore misused! and yet between
Gracious gleams of peace and grace
Shining from a better place.
Not unheeded dost thou speak.
Not with feelings light and vain,
Not with fond regretful pain,
Look I on the token sent
To declare the day far spent.
Dark and troubled hath it been;
Sore misused! and yet between
Gracious gleams of peace and grace
Shining from a better place.
Brighten—brighten, blessed light!
Fast approach the shades of night;
When they quite enclose me round,
May my lamp be burning found!
Fast approach the shades of night;
When they quite enclose me round,
May my lamp be burning found!
| The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey | |