Would that together we might pass away! Would that one sound might ring our passing knell! Yet soon we'll meet where partings are unknown; For the last time--farewell.
NATURE! Well hath the Poet said: "Who can Paint like to thee?" Inimitably fine Seem all the hues and colorings of thine, Though microscopic eye may closely scan: Close search but lifts the mystic veil that hides Thy scenes of beauty. In the tiny cup Of thy fair flowers, what wonders open up! Lo! a whole insect nation there resides, Clad in rich vests of fine embroidery, Or coats of living purple, green, and gold. Such fairy scenes, so constantly unrolled, Declare design most manifest to be; And the least path Omnipotence hath trod Exhibits footprints of our glorious God.
I THOUGHT my heart had cast away Each memory of its early day; I thought nor grief, nor change, nor fear, Could teach these eyes to shed a tear; And yet, a very child I be, Alas, I still remember thee!
I often gaze with heart unmoved On lips that smile like thine, beloved; I often catch a deep low tone, That bears the music of thine own; Yet pass, without a tear or smile, My pulses calm and cool, the while.
Thou, dearest, hast been linked to me By things which never more can be; By memories of that lovely place, That village, _quiet in its grace_, Like lilies, in the summer air, That stir not; knowing they are fair.
And those who trod its mossy walks, And shared with me those woodland talks, 'Till our hearts, hungry for the pain Of loving, to be loved again, Learned the deep meaning of a word Which had been better never heard.
Thou, and thy love, were of that time When life was but a passion--rhyme; When I knew not that care might come Even to that sweet mountain home; When stars and streams and flowers were part Of this, then calmly beating heart.
So, when the martyr's cross was mine, I chose another love than thine; Our hearts, but not our souls, were mates, Our love the same, but not our fates; And he who, in these later years, Seeks me, seeks also scorching tears.
'Tis long since I have breathed thy name! It once could turn my heart to flame; But now, so changed and cold am I, I only speak it with a sigh, That dreams, whose proper home is Heaven, To hearts o'ertasked with Earth, are given!