 | Poems |  |
218
[My own—my absent one! thou who art still]
My own—my absent one! thou who art still
Though absent, ever present!—if I strive
My page with radiance of thy Form to fill,
Though absent, ever present!—if I strive
My page with radiance of thy Form to fill,
And to the outward eye thine Image give
In lineaments of loveliness as clear
As in my inmost Soul secluded live—
In lineaments of loveliness as clear
As in my inmost Soul secluded live—
Alas! what boots the fond attempt to cheer
The weary pining of my woe-worn breast?
Still as I dwell on each remembrance dear,
The weary pining of my woe-worn breast?
Still as I dwell on each remembrance dear,
And pore on all that cannot be exprest,
Communion feigned makes Solitude more drear—
Such Opiate goads to more convulsed Unrest.
Communion feigned makes Solitude more drear—
Such Opiate goads to more convulsed Unrest.
What solace springs from dreaming thou art near?
The worn impatient writhe—the bitter, blinding tear!
The worn impatient writhe—the bitter, blinding tear!
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