Poems eBook

Denis Florence MacCarthy
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 80 pages of information about Poems.

And I led him on and on,
  Farther, in truth, than I strove,
For he frightened me with the earnestness
  And violence of his love;
These calm-eyed men deceive—­
  Had I known the man had a heart,
I would have paused, I would, I believe,
  Have acted a different part.

In his royal indignation
  He uttered some wholesome truth—­
He almost roused the emotion
  That died in my innocent youth;
Emotion that lived when life was new,
  Ere that man my pathway crossed,
Who played me a game untrue,
  When I staked all my love, and lost.

Oh for a saintly beauty,
  What efforts my soul did make;
I thought all goodness and purity
  Were possible for his sake;
The world seemed born anew, my life
  Such holy meaning wore,
I fancy so fair and fond a dream
  Never fell into ruins before.

He toyed with my fresh affection
  As he breathed the country air,
To refresh him after a season
  Of fashion, and falsehood, and glare;
Had he not slain my tenderness,
  Had my life been more sweet,
I might have known nobler happiness
  Than to humble men to my feet.

But now I love to lure them on,
  To make them slaves to my gaze,
Like serfs to a conqueror’s chariot,
  Like moths to a candle-blaze. 
I melt most royally time, the pearl,
  And quaff the cup like a queen,
And forget in the dizzy tumult and whirl,
  The woman I might have been.

LITTLE NELL.

Clasp your arms round her neck to-night,
        Little Nell,
Arms so delicate, soft and white,
And yet so strong in love’s strange might;
Clasp them around the kneeling form,
Fold them tenderly close and warm,
        And who can tell
But such slight links may draw her back,
Away from the fatal, fatal track;
        Who can tell,
        Little Nell?

Press your lips to the lips of snow,
        Little Nell;
Oh baby heart, may you never know
The anguish that makes them quiver so;
But now in her weakness and mortal pain,
Let your kisses fall like a dewy rain,
        And who can tell
But your innocent love, your childish kiss
May lure her back from the dread abyss;
        Who can tell,
        Little Nell.

Lay your cheek on her aching breast,
        Little Nell;
To you ’tis a refuge of holy rest,
But a dying bird never drooped its crest
With a deadlier pain in its wounded heart;
Ah! love’s sweet links may be torn apart,
        Little Nell;
The altar may flame with gems and gold,
And splendor be bought, and peace be sold,
        But is it well,
        Little Nell?

Copyrights
Project Gutenberg
Poems from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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