TO MY SISTER.
57
Thy fast decline—yet ah! it cannot be
That thou wilt leave me here alone, alone,
Upon the cold dull earth. Alas! I fear
Our gentle mother would not come to me
If thou wept gone. Oh leave me not—the dark
Dread thought seems writhing in my burning brain,
Like a wild scorpion in a sea of flame,
And dreams of madness curdle my heart's blood,
And wake the gloomy passions slumbering far
Beneath the bright stream of my better thoughts.
Thou wilt stay with me—yes, our mother's smile
E'en now bids me be calm, and lo! the waves
Of maddening fear are slowly ebbing back,
To Heaven's own music-tone of "Peace! be still!"
That thou wilt leave me here alone, alone,
Upon the cold dull earth. Alas! I fear
Our gentle mother would not come to me
If thou wept gone. Oh leave me not—the dark
Dread thought seems writhing in my burning brain,
Like a wild scorpion in a sea of flame,
And dreams of madness curdle my heart's blood,
And wake the gloomy passions slumbering far
Beneath the bright stream of my better thoughts.
Thou wilt stay with me—yes, our mother's smile
E'en now bids me be calm, and lo! the waves
Of maddening fear are slowly ebbing back,
To Heaven's own music-tone of "Peace! be still!"
