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Yet, by thine hair so lightly flowing,
And by thy smiling lips, I vow,
And by the meekness of thy brow,
And by those eyes, whose tranquil beam
So joyfully is wont to shine, As if thy bosom could not dream
Of half the woe that preys on mine,
I do not murmur that another
Hath gained the love I could not wake; I look on him as on a brother,
And do not hate him—for thy sake.
And, Mary, when I gaze on thee,
I think not on my own distress; Serene--in thy serenity,
And happy—in thine happiness.
A FLOWER, in Nature's fairest dress,
Bloomed on its parent tree;
That blush was not for me!
And yet I watched it where it grew,
Fondly and fearfully; And often from my heart I prayed That gentle Flower might never fade.
I could bave borne to see it bloom
By other hands c:ressed, Giving its blossoms and perfume
To deck another's breast;
Still living and still blest,
But thus to find it hurled away
By him to whom it clung,
So beautiful and young !
That lingers on the tongue !-
Gone is the color from thy cheek,
The lustre from thine eye;
Thy beauty passeth by!
In ignorance supremely blest,
And feels not “she will die!”
I love to muse on thee by night!
And, while my bosom aches, There is a something of delight
In thinking why it breaks ; Therefore doth Reason come in vain ;I dote on this consuming pain;
Cling to the wounds it makes; Talk-dream of it, and find relief E’en in the bitterness of grief.
Where are ye now, ye coldly wise,
Who bid the passions sleep,
And call it crime to weep?
For all your precepts deep,
I saw thee wedded-thou didst go
Within the sacred aisle,
Betwixt a tear and smile.
Was faithless all the while;
I hid the love that could not die,
Its doubts, and hopes, and fears, And buried all my misery
In secrecy and tears ;
E’en in thine early years;
While thou wert living, I did hide
Affection's secret pains :
For all the world contains;
Again unhidden reigns:
It is no crime to speak my vow,
Thou sleepest ’neath thy lowly stone
That dark and dreamless sleep;
Why goes he not to weep ?
The anguish still and deep,
But I—as o'er the dark blue wave
Unconsciously I ride,
My soul is by thy side.
The visions that have died;
A doubt-an anguish—a despair ! (1820–1821.)