miscellaneous poems.
87
Thou art the spirit of my dreams,
My being's very soul;
I think of thee till passion spurns
All reason—all control;
I'll hold thee yet the dearer
And strive with mingled art,
(Art taught by Love) to win again
That proud but gentle heart.
My being's very soul;
I think of thee till passion spurns
All reason—all control;
I'll hold thee yet the dearer
And strive with mingled art,
(Art taught by Love) to win again
That proud but gentle heart.
I have gloried in thy name, love,
I have trembled for thy weal,
The eloquence of those dear lips
Thro' every pulse I feel;
And when I list to others, and
They name thy treasured name,
Mingled with praises of thy worth,
Thy talents and thy fame.
I have trembled for thy weal,
The eloquence of those dear lips
Thro' every pulse I feel;
And when I list to others, and
They name thy treasured name,
Mingled with praises of thy worth,
Thy talents and thy fame.
My kindling brow, my blushing cheek,
My throbbing heart betray—
That o'er my bosom love hath won
A wild, unbounded sway.
My throbbing heart betray—
That o'er my bosom love hath won
A wild, unbounded sway.
