The improvisatrice; and other poems By L. E. L. [i.e. Landon] With embellishments. A new edition |
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 | The improvisatrice; and other poems |  |
7
As passes the breath-stain o'er glass;
And pleasures, cares, and pride combined,
Fill up the blank Love leaves behind.
But there are some whose love is high,
Entire, and sole idolatry;
Who, turning from a heartless world,
Ask some dear thing, which may renew
Affection's severed links, and be
As true as they themselves are true.
But Love's bright fount is never pure;
And all his pilgrims must endure
All passion's mighty suffering
Ere they may reach the blessed spring.
And some who waste their lives to find
A prize which they may never win:
8
Which found, they may not enter in.
Where is the sorrow but appears
In Love's long catalogue of tears?
And some there are who leave the path
In agony and fierce disdain;
But bear upon each cankered breast
The scar that never heals again.
| The improvisatrice; and other poems | |