Poems (Osgood)/To a Friend

by Frances Sargent Osgood

TO A FRIEND.

Oh, no! never deem her less worthy of love,
 That once she has trusted, and trusted in vain!
Could you turn from the timid and innocent dove,
 If it flew to your breast from a savage's chain!

She too is a dove, in her guileless affection,
 A child in confiding and worshipping truth;
Half broken in heart, she has flown for protection
 To you,—will you chill the sweet promise of youth?

To a being so fragile, affection is life!
 A rosebud, unbless'd by a smile from above,
When with bloom and with fragrance its bosom is rife—
 A bee without sweets—she must perish or love!

You have heard of those magical circles of flowers,
 Which in places laid waste by the lightning are found;
Where they say that the fairies have charm'd the night hours,
 With their luminous footsteps enriching the ground.

Believe me—the passion she cherish'd of yore,
 That brought, like the storm-flash, at once on its wing
Destruction and splendor, like that hurried o'er,
 And left in its track but the wild fairy-ring,–

All rife with fair blossoms of fancy and feeling,
 And hope, that spring forth from the desolate gloom,
And whose breath in rich incense is softly up-stealing,
 To brighten your pathway with beauty and bloom?