Poems (Charlotte Allen)/A Thought
For works with similar titles, see A Thought.
A THOUGHT.
It comes to me at morning's hour,With all its sweet and magic power, To soothe my heart;And often through the day I find,The vision ling'ring in my mind, With mystic art.
At pensive twilight's lovely shade,Devoid of all external aid, It doth arise,—Bringing before my mental view,A picture that my fancy drew, Though dim it lies.
It comes at soft and dewy eve,Its gentle influence to weave Around my soul;And if I waken in the night,'T is still before me fresh and bright, With full control.
Though but a thought, it hath the power,To cast a gladness o'er each hour, "To calm and cheer;"E'en should the vision prove untrue,It gives my soul a brighter hue, While resting here.
Then stay, sweet vision, linger yet,I'll bless the hour when first we met, And claim thee mine;But should'st thou ever truant prove,Oh, never would my spirit move Again to thine.