 | Phantasmion |  |
157
[I tremble when with look benign]
I tremble when with look benign
Thou tak'st my offer'd hand in thine,
Lest passion-breathing words of mine
The charm should break:
And friendly smiles be forced to fly,
Like soft reflections of the sky,
Which, when rude gales are sweeping by,
Desert the lake.
Thou tak'st my offer'd hand in thine,
Lest passion-breathing words of mine
The charm should break:
And friendly smiles be forced to fly,
Like soft reflections of the sky,
Which, when rude gales are sweeping by,
Desert the lake.
Of late I saw thee in a dream,
The day-star pour'd his hottest beam,
And thou, a cool refreshing stream,
Didst brightly run:
The trees where thou wert pleased to flow,
Swell'd out their flowers, a glorious show,
While I, too distant doom'd to grow,
Pined in the sun.
The day-star pour'd his hottest beam,
And thou, a cool refreshing stream,
Didst brightly run:
The trees where thou wert pleased to flow,
Swell'd out their flowers, a glorious show,
While I, too distant doom'd to grow,
Pined in the sun.
By no life-giving moisture fed,
A wasted tree, I bow'd my head,
My sallow leaves and blossoms shed
On earth's green breast:
And silent pray'd the slumbering wind,
The lake, thy tarrying place, might find,
And waft my leaves, with breathings kind,
There, there, to rest.
A wasted tree, I bow'd my head,
158
On earth's green breast:
And silent pray'd the slumbering wind,
The lake, thy tarrying place, might find,
And waft my leaves, with breathings kind,
There, there, to rest.
| Phantasmion | |