Page:Poems of Sentiment and Imagination.djvu/179

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And said to my proud heart—'And this is fame!'
It only answered with a feverish thrill.
And so I turned away from that I sought,
And poured my soul out on the poet's lyre,
And much of bliss and much of pain it brought.
Shall I tell further, love?—or dost thou tire?"

"Do the angels ever weary
Of the strains they hear above?
Tell me how the poet's myrtles
Shone among thy ringlets, love."

"Upon a placid brow their leaves did shine.
But my wild heart was burning fire beneath,
Because I strove Ambition's thorns to twine
Among the gentler blossoms of my wreath;
One great thought struggled upward in my soul.
As the sea heaves toward heav'n—that thought of fame!
And the deep music of its surging roll
The world called song!—its echo was a name!

"The sound was hollow, and my brain soon burned
To hear it ever ringing in my ear.
Ambition was a mocker ! and I spurn'd
What I had sought for as a prize most dear!
In this deep restlessness I ever yearned
For something, which I knew not then was love,
And my soul's sea a saddened brow upturned.
And murmured ever to the stars above.

"'Twas then that vision stole into my breast.
So spiritual, so perfect, pure, and sweet;
And all in glad surprise, I thought how blest
Would my life be if I could only meet,
Within this breathing world, a creature rare,
Like that so exquisite, so young, so bright;
With such a gift of song—such forehead fair—
Such proud, pure eyes, full of deep, shadowy light!