 | Letters of Laura D'Auverne |  |
196
WE NE'ER CAN KNOW.
We ne'er can know what time may show,
Nor what we lose when bent to roam;
But this I see—for love and me—
'Twere better far I'd stayed at home.
'Twas by the stream, where lilies dream,
'Mid music by the waters given,
I saw a maid—or angel strayed—
Just newly strayed—away from heaven!
Nor what we lose when bent to roam;
But this I see—for love and me—
'Twere better far I'd stayed at home.
'Twas by the stream, where lilies dream,
'Mid music by the waters given,
I saw a maid—or angel strayed—
Just newly strayed—away from heaven!
Her eyes soft hue had caught their blue
From summer morns, when skies are sweet;
Her golden hair, like sun-clouds there,
Half wander'd to her snowy feet!
And oh! her lips,—the rose that dips
Its first young buds in vernal dew
Were pale beside their crimson pride,—
Those lips, that might a world subdue.
From summer morns, when skies are sweet;
Her golden hair, like sun-clouds there,
Half wander'd to her snowy feet!
And oh! her lips,—the rose that dips
Its first young buds in vernal dew
Were pale beside their crimson pride,—
Those lips, that might a world subdue.
200
Alas for me, that this should be,
Alas that I went out to roam;
My heart, 'tis clear, hath changed its sphere,—
I'd better far have stayed at home.
As sure as fate, with wings elate,
She's borne my heart to yonder sky;
And I may weep, and long watch keep,
But see no angel passing by!
Alas that I went out to roam;
My heart, 'tis clear, hath changed its sphere,—
I'd better far have stayed at home.
As sure as fate, with wings elate,
She's borne my heart to yonder sky;
And I may weep, and long watch keep,
But see no angel passing by!
Oh! should you meet, with snowy feet,
A maiden fair,—or eyes of blue,
And lips whose rose a magic throws,
That thrills with love one's spirit through:
Then, ere she flies to yonder skies,
And seeks the Eden of her birth,
Oh! call me nigh, and we will try
To keep one angel upon earth!
A maiden fair,—or eyes of blue,
And lips whose rose a magic throws,
That thrills with love one's spirit through:
Then, ere she flies to yonder skies,
And seeks the Eden of her birth,
Oh! call me nigh, and we will try
To keep one angel upon earth!
| Letters of Laura D'Auverne | |