Freston
27
But way down in her heart a small traitor voice
Will remind her of happier hours,
That are folded away like some sweet, withered buds,
That were plucked in Bohemian bowers.
And I, when these rhymes that now trouble my brain,
And sadly upset all my duties,
Out of chaos take form, and materialize,
In the shape of sweet rhythmical beauties,
And these dreams that I dream, when my soul takes its flight.
Will remind her of happier hours,
That are folded away like some sweet, withered buds,
That were plucked in Bohemian bowers.
And I, when these rhymes that now trouble my brain,
And sadly upset all my duties,
Out of chaos take form, and materialize,
In the shape of sweet rhythmical beauties,
And these dreams that I dream, when my soul takes its flight.
From the every day world all around me,
Will shyly come forth, like the stars of the night,—
Or my child that was lost and has found me!
When critics shall blame me or censure or praise,
And publishers' gold fill my coffers,
And I rear my head high, proudly decked with its bays,
And receive and decline many offers!
Will shyly come forth, like the stars of the night,—
Or my child that was lost and has found me!
When critics shall blame me or censure or praise,
And publishers' gold fill my coffers,
And I rear my head high, proudly decked with its bays,
And receive and decline many offers!
When I hold my salon, where the pride of the town,—
The genius, the wit, and the learning,—
Will each one his gift at Art's altar lay down,
And a welcome receive for the earning!
The genius, the wit, and the learning,—
Will each one his gift at Art's altar lay down,
And a welcome receive for the earning!
