Poems By Edward Quillinan. With a Memoir by William Johnston |
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TO A LADY OF SUPERCILIOUS AIR. |
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 | Poems |  |
95
TO A LADY OF SUPERCILIOUS AIR.
Why should thine eyes look daggers? sheathe
Their pride within those silken lids;
And listen, lady, while I breathe
The tale thy haughty stare forbids.
Their pride within those silken lids;
And listen, lady, while I breathe
The tale thy haughty stare forbids.
Is it a tale of love? why how
Those orbs dilate with wondering scorn!
No, think to hear no lover's vow,
Proud daughter of the “son of morn!”
Those orbs dilate with wondering scorn!
No, think to hear no lover's vow,
Proud daughter of the “son of morn!”
'Tis true while I regard that brow
My deepest feelings trembling wake;
Like leaves upon the aspen bough
They seem without a cause to shake.
My deepest feelings trembling wake;
Like leaves upon the aspen bough
They seem without a cause to shake.
96
But thou art less than half the cause,
So toss not thus the head superb;
Although thy form my memory awes,
Although thy traits my dreams disturb.
So toss not thus the head superb;
Although thy form my memory awes,
Although thy traits my dreams disturb.
I watch thy course in fashion's train,
Where most thy gaudy beauty flares;
And hate thy spirit cold and vain,
But love too well the form it wears.
Where most thy gaudy beauty flares;
And hate thy spirit cold and vain,
But love too well the form it wears.
Thou art to me as if the Dead
Had shaken off her mortal trance,
And glided round my board and bed
With icy, strange, mysterious glance.
Had shaken off her mortal trance,
And glided round my board and bed
With icy, strange, mysterious glance.
As if, unchanged in shape, she came
From out her dormitory damp,
But with the mind's informing flame
Rekindled at another's lamp.
From out her dormitory damp,
But with the mind's informing flame
Rekindled at another's lamp.
Thou wilt die young, perchance, like her
Whose breathing effigy thou art;
Death's angel may delight to mar
The beauty that deforms thy heart.
Whose breathing effigy thou art;
Death's angel may delight to mar
The beauty that deforms thy heart.
97
No: not o'er thee will early wave
The shadow of that angel's wings;
The hearts which find the earliest grave
Are those that feeling deepest stings.
The shadow of that angel's wings;
The hearts which find the earliest grave
Are those that feeling deepest stings.
No, live, till by the crooked share
Of time, thy brow and cheek are plough'd,
And, scant and gray, thy feeble hair
Thy palsied head shall faintly shroud.
Of time, thy brow and cheek are plough'd,
And, scant and gray, thy feeble hair
Thy palsied head shall faintly shroud.
Alas, if I misjudge thee!—soul
And feature often disagree;
Beneath the ice that guards the pole
Unnumber'd living things there be.
And feature often disagree;
Beneath the ice that guards the pole
Unnumber'd living things there be.
Unnumber'd germs of loveliest flowers
Lie slumbering under winter snows,
Awaiting vernal sun and showers
To rouse them from their drear repose.
Lie slumbering under winter snows,
Awaiting vernal sun and showers
To rouse them from their drear repose.
Like birds that nestle among leaves
Of thistle, holly-tree, and thorn,
There's many a heart that warmly heaves
Within its prickly hedge of scorn.
Of thistle, holly-tree, and thorn,
There's many a heart that warmly heaves
Within its prickly hedge of scorn.
| Poems | |