Poems eBook

Denis Florence MacCarthy
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 107 pages of information about Poems.

You were very fair, Jenny Allen,
  Fair as a woodland rose;
Your heart was pure as an angel’s heart,
  Too good for earth and its woes,
And I loved you, Jenny Allen,
  With a sorrowful love, God knows.

You loved me, Jenny Allen,
  My sorrow made me wise;
And I read your heart, ’twas an easy task,
  For within your clear blue eyes,
Your pure and innocent thoughts shone out
  Like stars from the summer skies.

He had riches and fame with his seventy years
  When he won you for his wife;
You were but a child, and poor, and tired,
  Tired of toil and strife;
And you only thought of rest, poor dove,
  When you sold your beautiful life.

Alas, for the hour I entered in
  Your halls of lordly mirth;
For I lost there, Jenny Allen,
  All that gives life worth;
You taught your teacher, Jenny,
  The saddest lesson of earth.

Ah, woe’s the hour I ever stepped
  Your mansion walls within;
For you loved me, Jenny Allen,
  But you never dreamed ’twas sin;
Your heart was white as a lily’s heart,
  When it drinks the sunshine in.

God pity me, Jenny Allen,
  That I ever loved you so,
I would have died to give you peace,
  And I only gave you woe;
For your eyes looked like a wounded dove’s,
  When I told you I must go.

You were but a child, Jenny Allen,
  But that hour made you wise;
A woman’s grief and holy strength
  Sprang up in your mournful eyes;
Ah, you were an angel, Jenny,
  An angel in woman’s guise.

But a pitiful, pitiful look, Jenny,
  Your seraph features wore,
As I left you that dark autumn morn,
  Left you forevermore;
And heaven seemed shut against me
  As I blindly shut that door.

The years have rained on you golden gifts,
  You dwell in a queenly show;
There are jewels of price in your silken hair,
  And upon your neck of snow. 
Do you ever think of me, Jenny,
  And the dream of the long ago?

I have sat me down under foreign skies
  Afire with an Orient glow;
I have seen the moon gild the desert sand,
  And silver the Arctic snow,
But the thought of you Jenny Allen,
  Goes with me where I go.


Not far away does that bright city stand,
  ’Tis but the mist o’er its dividing stream,
That wraps the glory of its glitt’ring strand,
  Its radiant skies, and mountains silvery gleam;
Oh, often in the blindness of our fate
We wander very near the city’s gate.

We love that unseen city, and we yearn
  Ever within our earthly homes to see
Its golden towers, that in the sunset burn,
  Its white walls rising from the quiet sea;
Its mansions gleaming with immortal glow,
Filled with the treasure lost to us below.

Yes, dear ones that we loved and lost are there;
  Bright in that fair clime beam those sweet eyes now;
Fanned by its soft breeze floats the shining hair,
  Hair we have smoothed back from the gentlest brow;
Softest white hands we kissed and clasped in ours
Slipped from our grasp, lured by its glowing flowers.

Project Gutenberg
Poems from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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