 | Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton |  |
132
TO H. S. S.
O Friend, O Brother, O Beloved!
I fold thy grief around my heart,
By love's most prizëd privilege
In all thy pain to bear a part.
I fold thy grief around my heart,
By love's most prizëd privilege
In all thy pain to bear a part.
Rest thee, thou Traveller opprest!
My fanning sighs shall o'er thee move;
My heart, thy rock of shady rest,
Pours thee its stream of tearful love.
My fanning sighs shall o'er thee move;
My heart, thy rock of shady rest,
Pours thee its stream of tearful love.
O Friend! O Love! That murmuring song
Hath but faint echoes of her past;
The sweet full anthem, swelling long,
Leaving this silent void at last.
Hath but faint echoes of her past;
The sweet full anthem, swelling long,
Leaving this silent void at last.
A ‘silent void’? Ah no! Ah no!
Clasp fast thy pain, belovëd friend!
Its pangs from holiest memories grow
Which thou shalt cherish to the end.
Clasp fast thy pain, belovëd friend!
Its pangs from holiest memories grow
Which thou shalt cherish to the end.
133
Our Rose, our gath er'd flower! We weep
Slow-falling, pining, fruitless tears,
Thinking how fair she bloom'd. We keep
Her fragrance to embalm our years.
Slow-falling, pining, fruitless tears,
Thinking how fair she bloom'd. We keep
Her fragrance to embalm our years.
Our own ‘Gione’! O to lift
Up to her height our earnest eyes,
To walk with her in living faith,
In simple truth, sublimely wise!
Up to her height our earnest eyes,
To walk with her in living faith,
In simple truth, sublimely wise!
Strong, ev'n as she, to bear our woe;
Pure, ev'n as she, from taint of ill;
So might we feel, and, feeling, know
That all her love is with us still.
Pure, ev'n as she, from taint of ill;
So might we feel, and, feeling, know
That all her love is with us still.
1850. S. P.
| Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton | |