Lyrics of the heart With other poems. By Alaric A. Watts. With forty-one engravings on steel |
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MAY-FLOWERS
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 | Lyrics of the heart |  |
16
MAY-FLOWERS
FOUND AFTER THE LAPSE OF YEARS IN A VOLUME OF “BURNS.”
Life went a-Maying
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young.
COLERIDGE.
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy,
When I was young.
COLERIDGE.
Memorial frail of youthful years,
Of hopes as wild and bright as they,
Thy faint, sweet perfume calls up tears,
I may not, cannot wish away!
Thy withered leaves are as a spell
To bring the sainted past before me;
And long-lost scenes, but loved too well,
In all their truth restore me.
Of hopes as wild and bright as they,
Thy faint, sweet perfume calls up tears,
I may not, cannot wish away!
Thy withered leaves are as a spell
To bring the sainted past before me;
And long-lost scenes, but loved too well,
In all their truth restore me.
Cold is her hand who placed thee here,
Thou record sad of Love and Spring,
Ere life's May-flowers, like thee, grew sere,
Or Hope had waved her parting wing:
When Boyhood's burning dreams were mine,
And Fancy's magic circlet crowned me;
And Love, when love is half divine,
Spread its enchantments 'round me!
Thou record sad of Love and Spring,
Ere life's May-flowers, like thee, grew sere,
Or Hope had waved her parting wing:
When Boyhood's burning dreams were mine,
And Fancy's magic circlet crowned me;
And Love, when love is half divine,
Spread its enchantments 'round me!
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How can I e'er forget the hour
When thou wert glowing on her breast,
Fresh from the dewy hawthorn bower
That looked upon the golden West!
She snatched thee from thy sacred shrine,—
A brighter fate she scarce could doom thee,—
And bade a Poet's wreath be thine,—
His deathless page entomb thee.
When thou wert glowing on her breast,
Fresh from the dewy hawthorn bower
That looked upon the golden West!
She snatched thee from thy sacred shrine,—
A brighter fate she scarce could doom thee,—
And bade a Poet's wreath be thine,—
His deathless page entomb thee.
That hour is past, those dreams have fled,—
Ties sweeter, holier, bind me now;
And, if life's first May-flowers are dead,
Its summer garland wreathes my brow.
Sleep on, sleep on! I would but gaze
A moment on thy faded bloom;
Heave one wild sigh to other days,
Then close thy hallowed tomb!
Ties sweeter, holier, bind me now;
And, if life's first May-flowers are dead,
Its summer garland wreathes my brow.
Sleep on, sleep on! I would but gaze
A moment on thy faded bloom;
Heave one wild sigh to other days,
Then close thy hallowed tomb!
| Lyrics of the heart | |