Poems by George Pope Morris - LightNovelsOnl.com
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William.
Oh, grant me thy smile, love, 'Tis Hope's cheering ray-- With evening expect me.
Ellen.
To the moment be true, And may angels protect thee--
Both.
Sweet Ellen, adieu!
Dear William, adieu!
When Other Friends.
When other friends are round thee, And other hearts are thine-- When other bays have crowned thee, More fresh and green than mine-- Then think how sad and lonely This doating heart will be, Which, while it beats, beats only, Beloved one, for thee!
Yet do not think I doubt thee, I know thy truth remains; I would not live without thee, For all the world contains.
Thou art the start that guides me Along life's troubled sea; And whatever fate betides me, This heart still turns to thee.
Silent Grief.
Where is now my peace of mind?
Gone, alas! for evermore: Turn where'er I may, I find Thorns where roses bloomed before!
O'er the green-fields of my soul, Where the springs of joy were found, Now the clouds of sorrow roll, Shading all the prospect round!
Do I merit pangs like these, That have cleft my heart in twain?
Must I, to the very lees, Drain thy bitter chalice, Pain?
Silent grief all grief excels; Life and it together part-- Like a restless worm it dwells Deep within the human heart!
Love Thee, Dearest!
Love thee, dearest?--Hear me.--Never Will my fond vows be forgot!
May I perish, and for ever, When, dear maid, I love thee not!
Turn not from me, dearest!--Listen!
Banish all thy doubts and fears!
Let thine eyes with transport glisten!
What hast thou to do with tears?
Dry them, dearest!--Ah, believe me, Love's bright flame is burning still!
Though the hollow world deceive thee, Here's a heart that never will!
Dost thou smile?--A cloud of sorrow Breaks before Joy's rising sun!
Wilt thou give thy hand?--To-morrow, Hymen's bond will make us one!
I Love the Night.
I love the night when the moon streams bright On flowers that drink the dew-- When cascades shout as the stars peep out, From boundless fields of blue; But dearer far than moon or star, Or flowers of gaudy hue, Or murmuring trills of mountain-rills, I love, I love, love--you!
I love to stray at the close of the day, Through groves of forest-trees, When gus.h.i.+ng notes from song-birds' throats Are vocal in the breeze.
I love the night--the glorious night-- When hearts beat warm and true; But far above the night, I love, I love, I love, love--you!
The Miniature.
William was holding in his hand The likeness of his wife!
Fresh, as if touched by fairy wand, With beauty, grace, and life.
He almost thought it spoke:--he gazed Upon the bauble still, Absorbed, delighted, and amazed, To view the artist's skill.
"This picture is yourself, dear Jane-- 'Tis drawn to nature true: I've kissed it o'er and o'er again, It is much like you."
