Poems and Songs (1862). Etheline
The heart that once was rich with light, And happy in your grace, Now lieth cold beneath the scorn That gathers on your face; And every joy it knew before, And every templed dream, Is paler than the dying flash On yonder mountain stream. The soul, regretting foundered bliss Amid the wreck of years, Hath mourned it with intensity Too deep for human tears! The forest fadeth underneath The blast that rushes by— The dripping leaves are white with death, But Love will never die! We both have seen the starry moss That clings where Ruin reigns, And one must know his lonely breast Affection still retains; Through all the sweetest hopes of life, That clustered round and round, Are lying now, like withered things, Forsaken—on the ground. 'Tis hard to think of what we were, And what we might have been, Had not an evil spirit crept Across the tranquil scene: Had fervent feelings in your soul Not failed nor ceased to shine As pure as those existing on, And burning still in mine. Had every treasure at your feet That I was wont to pour, Been never thrown like worthless weeds Upon a barren shore! The bitter edge of grief has passed, I would not now upbraid; Or count to you the broken vows, So often idly made! I would not cross your path to chase The falsehood from your brow— I know, with all that borrowed light, You are not happy now: Since those that once have trampled down Affection's early claim, Have lost a peace they need not hope To find on earth again.
Henry Kendall’s other poems:
