Poem by Burton to his wife

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<poem> I wore thine image, Fame, Within a heart well fit to be thy shrine ! Others a thousand boons may gain, One wish was mine

The hope to gain one smile, To dwell one moment cradled on thy breast, Then close my eyes, bid life farewell, And take my rest !

And now I see a glorious hand Beckon me out of dark despair! Hear a glorious voice command, Up, bravely dare.

And if to leave a deeper trace On earth, to thee, Time, Fate, deny; Drown vain regret, and have the grace Silent to die.

She pointed to a grisly land, Where all breathes death earth, sea, and air! Her glorious accents sound once more: Go, meet me there!

Mine ear will hear no other sound, No other thought my heart will know. Is this a sin? 'Oh, pardon, Lord! Thou mad'st me so.'

R. F. B.
September, 1856.