12
Poems
There Cupid, with arch, laughing face,
Beckons me on to follow;
There Sympathy holds forth a hand
With promise for to-morrow.
Beckons me on to follow;
There Sympathy holds forth a hand
With promise for to-morrow.
There Fame sits in the sunlight fair,
Bright laurel leaves entwining,
While on a tender bed of bloom,
Joy's soft limbs are reclining.
Bright laurel leaves entwining,
While on a tender bed of bloom,
Joy's soft limbs are reclining.
And o'er it and above it all,
Thy tender eyes still call me,
And oh! I yearn to follow them,
Whatever fate befall!
Thy tender eyes still call me,
And oh! I yearn to follow them,
Whatever fate befall!
I am too blind to see the blight
"Upon the rose-leaves falling;—
Too blind to see the trail that's left
By serpents o'er their crawling;
"Upon the rose-leaves falling;—
Too blind to see the trail that's left
By serpents o'er their crawling;
Too fond am I of that fair sight,
To look beyond its glowing,
And mark the crouching, dark Despair,
Toward Desolation going.
To look beyond its glowing,
And mark the crouching, dark Despair,
Toward Desolation going.
Oh, could we side by side,
Have walked this rugged way together,
Then, oh, my love! we had no need
To ever question "Whither?"
Have walked this rugged way together,
Then, oh, my love! we had no need
To ever question "Whither?"
