Poems (McDonald)/To Estelle
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TO ESTELLE.
"No, the eye of friendship may not rend
All that the heart contains,
Its wealth of love, its tenderness,
Its pleasures, and its pains.
Estelle.
All that the heart contains,
Its wealth of love, its tenderness,
Its pleasures, and its pains.
Estelle.
And say'st thou so, my gentle friend?
And dost thou deem, indeed,
Thy poet-heart a secret page,
Which none beside may read?
It may be so with many a one
Who idly scans the leaf,
They may not guess how pure its joy,
How deep its inmost grief,—
And dost thou deem, indeed,
Thy poet-heart a secret page,
Which none beside may read?
It may be so with many a one
Who idly scans the leaf,
They may not guess how pure its joy,
How deep its inmost grief,—
They may not dream its love must burn
An ever quenchless flame,
How oft a chord within thy breast
May vibrate at a name,
But ah! a sybil's power is mine,
To read its hidden lore;
And the witching spell of poetry
Can a poet's heart explore.
An ever quenchless flame,
How oft a chord within thy breast
May vibrate at a name,
But ah! a sybil's power is mine,
To read its hidden lore;
And the witching spell of poetry
Can a poet's heart explore.
I know thou lov'st the beautiful,
In earth, and air, and sea,
The sunset clouds, as they robe the west
In a gorgeous drapery;
The lurid glare of the lightning's flash,
And the meteor's path of light;
The silver moon, and the quiet stars,
In the holy hours of night.
In earth, and air, and sea,
The sunset clouds, as they robe the west
In a gorgeous drapery;
The lurid glare of the lightning's flash,
And the meteor's path of light;
The silver moon, and the quiet stars,
In the holy hours of night.
The ocean waves have a voice for thee,
And the gentle woodland streams,
And they haunt thy heart with their melody,
In the far-off land of dreams;
The whispering winds in the forest boughs,
Have for thee a mystic tone,
And the green arcades, and the leafy glades,
Speak to thy heart alone.
And the gentle woodland streams,
And they haunt thy heart with their melody,
In the far-off land of dreams;
The whispering winds in the forest boughs,
Have for thee a mystic tone,
And the green arcades, and the leafy glades,
Speak to thy heart alone.
Thou lovest the wild bird's mellow note,
When he carols his morning hymn,
And the dew-drop that lies on the violet's breast,
Or jewels the lily's brim:
Thou weavest a tissue all fair and bright,
To color the humblest things,
For a world lies hidden within thy heart,
Where ever sweet fancy springs;
A world, where dwelleth in rainbow hues
The thoughts that in heaven have birth;
Which hover o'er, like the fabled bird,[1]
But touch not this clouded earth.
When he carols his morning hymn,
And the dew-drop that lies on the violet's breast,
Or jewels the lily's brim:
Thou weavest a tissue all fair and bright,
To color the humblest things,
For a world lies hidden within thy heart,
Where ever sweet fancy springs;
A world, where dwelleth in rainbow hues
The thoughts that in heaven have birth;
Which hover o'er, like the fabled bird,[1]
But touch not this clouded earth.
Thou lovest the summer, that gaily flings
Green wreaths upon every bough,
And I know thou lovest the glittering gems
That circle the Frost-king's brow:
The insect that floats on the perfumed gale,
Were a theme for many an hour,
For thou see'st its Maker's mighty hand
In the tiniest leaf or flower;
I know thou readest a lesson pure,
In each blossom that decks the sod,
And lookest up with a trusting heart,
Through Nature, to Nature's God.
Green wreaths upon every bough,
And I know thou lovest the glittering gems
That circle the Frost-king's brow:
The insect that floats on the perfumed gale,
Were a theme for many an hour,
For thou see'st its Maker's mighty hand
In the tiniest leaf or flower;
I know thou readest a lesson pure,
In each blossom that decks the sod,
And lookest up with a trusting heart,
Through Nature, to Nature's God.
But deeper things, far deeper things,
Lie hid in that heart of thine,
Like jewels that sleep in their earthy beds,
Low down in the secret mine:
The hoarded wealth of affections pure,
A child, and a sister's love,—
And the Christian hope, that will light thy way,
To a glorious world above:
And Oh! there are tender memories,
Of the lost and lovely there,
That come when the busy world is still,
And thou hast knelt down in prayer:
That come o'er thy heart in the holy hush
Of the solemn midnight, lone,
And the by-gone years, and the parted friends,
Are once again thine own.
Lie hid in that heart of thine,
Like jewels that sleep in their earthy beds,
Low down in the secret mine:
The hoarded wealth of affections pure,
A child, and a sister's love,—
And the Christian hope, that will light thy way,
To a glorious world above:
And Oh! there are tender memories,
Of the lost and lovely there,
That come when the busy world is still,
And thou hast knelt down in prayer:
That come o'er thy heart in the holy hush
Of the solemn midnight, lone,
And the by-gone years, and the parted friends,
Are once again thine own.
Then say, fair friend, have I read aright
Thy heart's mysterious page?
Hath my sybil power, and witching spell,
Unlocked the door of that holy cell,
Where Love, with his shining wings, doth dwell,
And Thought hath his golden cage?
Ah! deem not thou the prying eye,
To intrude in that spot, would dare,
I did but look in my own fond heart,
And thine was reflected there.
Thy heart's mysterious page?
Hath my sybil power, and witching spell,
Unlocked the door of that holy cell,
Where Love, with his shining wings, doth dwell,
And Thought hath his golden cage?
Ah! deem not thou the prying eye,
To intrude in that spot, would dare,
I did but look in my own fond heart,
And thine was reflected there.