User:Alien333/Random poem
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Random poem: Poems (Griffith)/To my Sister
by: Mattie Griffith
To my Sister.
SWEET sister, thou art very beautiful,
Thy wild and dark eye-flashes, burns and glows
With glorious spirit-lustre, and a spell
Of deep and holy witchery looks out
From its clear depths in many a glance of love,
A fervid glance of love and loveliness.
Thy pale, pale cheek, o'er which the faintest blush
Of crimson fades out, like the passion breath
Of sunset o'er a snowy cloud; thy pure
High brow, so beautiful, and eloquent,
With the proud majesty of lofty thought;
The waving wealth of midnight hair that floats
Around thy forehead, like a stormy cloud
Round a white monument; thy parting lips
So red, so rich, so like the opening rose
While yet the soft and early dew-drop blends
With its wild perfume; thy bewitching smile
Of strange, bright beauty, like a glance just caught
From the closed portals of the Eden clime;
Thy form, thy seraph form, that floats and glides
Upon the earth in dreamlike loveliness,
As 'twere the very spirit of a strain
Of sweet and wild Æolian melody
Made visible to mortal eyes; thy soft
And gentle voice, that through my spirit sends
Its thrill, like low and mournful music heard
O'er the still waters of the midnight deep—
All these seem stealing on my eye and ear,
And lingering with me in my lonely hours,
To fashion blessed dreams of thee and heaven
Within my glowing soul.
Thy wild and dark eye-flashes, burns and glows
With glorious spirit-lustre, and a spell
Of deep and holy witchery looks out
From its clear depths in many a glance of love,
A fervid glance of love and loveliness.
Thy pale, pale cheek, o'er which the faintest blush
Of crimson fades out, like the passion breath
Of sunset o'er a snowy cloud; thy pure
High brow, so beautiful, and eloquent,
With the proud majesty of lofty thought;
The waving wealth of midnight hair that floats
Around thy forehead, like a stormy cloud
Round a white monument; thy parting lips
So red, so rich, so like the opening rose
While yet the soft and early dew-drop blends
With its wild perfume; thy bewitching smile
Of strange, bright beauty, like a glance just caught
From the closed portals of the Eden clime;
Thy form, thy seraph form, that floats and glides
Upon the earth in dreamlike loveliness,
As 'twere the very spirit of a strain
Of sweet and wild Æolian melody
Made visible to mortal eyes; thy soft
And gentle voice, that through my spirit sends
Its thrill, like low and mournful music heard
O'er the still waters of the midnight deep—
All these seem stealing on my eye and ear,
And lingering with me in my lonely hours,
To fashion blessed dreams of thee and heaven
Within my glowing soul.
Thou, sister dear,
Art on the earth, not of it. Thy pure wing
Is here chained back from thy own native heaven.
Thou art a gentle angel that my God
Hath sent to soften, purify, and soothe
My soul of fierce unrest. To me thy love
Is the bright bow that spans life's darkest storm,
An angel bending from the tempest-cloud.
We two have wept o'er our dear mother's grave,
Together we have bowed our heads and prayed
For strength from Heaven to shield us from the stern
Deep agonies of life. Our mother sleeps
Afar, and we, the children of her love,
Are left to buffet life's dark waves alone.
No, not alone, for at the solemn hour
Of holy midnight, on the moon's pale beams
That mother seeks her loved ones on the earth,
To whisper strength and comfort to their hearts.
Oh then, sweet sister, let us gird ourselves
For life's great battle, safe beneath her wing
From every pain and danger.
Art on the earth, not of it. Thy pure wing
Is here chained back from thy own native heaven.
Thou art a gentle angel that my God
Hath sent to soften, purify, and soothe
My soul of fierce unrest. To me thy love
Is the bright bow that spans life's darkest storm,
An angel bending from the tempest-cloud.
We two have wept o'er our dear mother's grave,
Together we have bowed our heads and prayed
For strength from Heaven to shield us from the stern
Deep agonies of life. Our mother sleeps
Afar, and we, the children of her love,
Are left to buffet life's dark waves alone.
No, not alone, for at the solemn hour
Of holy midnight, on the moon's pale beams
That mother seeks her loved ones on the earth,
To whisper strength and comfort to their hearts.
Oh then, sweet sister, let us gird ourselves
For life's great battle, safe beneath her wing
From every pain and danger.
Sister mine!
I've marked with bitter, bitter agony
Thy fast decline—yet ah! it cannot be
That thou wilt leave me here alone, alone,
Upon the cold dull earth. Alas! I fear
Our gentle mother would not come to me
If thou wept gone. Oh leave me not—the dark
Dread thought seems writhing in my burning brain,
Like a wild scorpion in a sea of flame,
And dreams of madness curdle my heart's blood,
And wake the gloomy passions slumbering far
Beneath the bright stream of my better thoughts.
Thou wilt stay with me—yes, our mother's smile
E'en now bids me be calm, and lo! the waves
Of maddening fear are slowly ebbing back,
To Heaven's own music-tone of "Peace! be still!"
I've marked with bitter, bitter agony
Thy fast decline—yet ah! it cannot be
That thou wilt leave me here alone, alone,
Upon the cold dull earth. Alas! I fear
Our gentle mother would not come to me
If thou wept gone. Oh leave me not—the dark
Dread thought seems writhing in my burning brain,
Like a wild scorpion in a sea of flame,
And dreams of madness curdle my heart's blood,
And wake the gloomy passions slumbering far
Beneath the bright stream of my better thoughts.
Thou wilt stay with me—yes, our mother's smile
E'en now bids me be calm, and lo! the waves
Of maddening fear are slowly ebbing back,
To Heaven's own music-tone of "Peace! be still!"