54
POEMS.
Ah! no, those spires and temples shine
For other brows than these of mine.
For other brows than these of mine.
The sad unrest of weary hours
And thoughts all ill expressed,
Which once held thraldom sore and deep
Within mine inmost breast,
Is past, and now a summer reign
Of peace and love is mine again.
And thoughts all ill expressed,
Which once held thraldom sore and deep
Within mine inmost breast,
Is past, and now a summer reign
Of peace and love is mine again.
The fiery blood of youth's brief day,
Its transient joys and woes,
That quiver at each fitful breeze
That o'er it sweeps and blows,
Now in the tract of Time's great sea
Sleep quiet till eternity.
Its transient joys and woes,
That quiver at each fitful breeze
That o'er it sweeps and blows,
Now in the tract of Time's great sea
Sleep quiet till eternity.
I ask not now that I be great
In learning, as of yore,
In classic art or ideal grace,—
That beauteous dream is o'er.
I only pray my womanhood
Be crowned by being pure and good.
In learning, as of yore,
In classic art or ideal grace,—
That beauteous dream is o'er.
I only pray my womanhood
Be crowned by being pure and good.
Nor do I long, as most have longed,
For one dear life to bless
Their own with tenderest human ties.
That dream of loveliness
Has faded like the mists away;
For such, I may not, dare not, pray.
For one dear life to bless
Their own with tenderest human ties.
That dream of loveliness
Has faded like the mists away;
For such, I may not, dare not, pray.
