Poems eBook

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

Dreaming of shaded village streets, and home,
  Forgetting the cruel sea
Till the shock came—­so woke I, yet I know
  ’Twas Love, I loved, not he.

’Tis not the star the wave so wildly clasps,
  Only its form reflected in the stream;
’Tis not a broken heart I mourn,
  Only a broken dream.

I should have died when he was brought so low,
  Had it been him I loved,
Died clinging to him, as to the blasted oak
  The ivy clings unmoved.

’Twas Love that looked on me with strange, sweet eyes
  Burning with marvellous flame;
Love was the idol that I worshipped, though
  I gave to it his name.

I gave to Love his name, his glance, his brow,
  His low-toned voice, his smile,
Oh, soul be patient; I can sever them
  But yet a little while—­

Before I put away these outward forms
  Deceiving, sweet disguises, which Love wore
Let my heart break into regretful tears
  Just once, and then no more.

Just once, as fond friends watch the fading sail
  Bearing away a guest of truest worth,
They give this little time to grief, and then
  Return to their desolate hearth,

And build new fires, and gather dewy flowers,
  Let the pure air into the vacant room,
So light, and bloom, and sweetness, all
  Shall penetrate its gloom.

I will be patient, in a little time
  Quiet, and full of rest,
Gods’s peace will come, and, like a soft-winged bird,
  Settle upon my breast.

Not always thus shall beat my restless heart
  Like a wild eagle ’gainst its prison-bars;
In some calm twilight of the future time
  I will sit, calm-browed, underneath the stars.

GONE BEFORE.

Smooth the hair;
Silken waves of sunny brown
Lay upon the white brow down,
Crowned with the blossoms rare;
Lilies on a golden stream,
Ne’er to float in summer air
Wreathed with meadow daisies fair. 
Lay away the broken crown
And your broken dream,
With one shining tress of hair,
Nevermore to need your care.

A WOMAN’S HEART.

My heart sings like a bird to-night
That flies to its nest in the soft twilight,
  And sings in its brooding bliss;
Ah!  I so low, and he so high,
What could he find to love?  I cry,
  Did ever love stoop so low as this?

As a miser jealously counts his gold,
I sit and dream of my wealth untold,
  From the curious world apart;
Too sacred my joy for another eye,
I treasure it tenderly, silently,
  And hide it away in my heart.

Dearer to me than the costliest crown
That ever on queenly forehead shone
  Is the kiss he left on my brow;
Would I change his smile for a royal gem? 
His love for a monarch’s diadem? 
  Change it?  Ah, no, ah, no!

My heart sings like a bird to-night
That flies away to its nest of light
  To brood o’er its living bliss;
Ah!  I so low, and he so high,
What could he find to love?  I cry,
  Did ever love stoop so low as this?

Copyrights
Project Gutenberg
Poems from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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