Poems (Chitwood)/Evening Thoughts
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EVENING THOUGHTS.
O earth! thou art most beautiful;—
As I look forth to-night,
The sky is fleeced with fairy clouds,
Tinged with a pale light;
And the crescent moon is shining
All gloriously bright.
As I look forth to-night,
The sky is fleeced with fairy clouds,
Tinged with a pale light;
And the crescent moon is shining
All gloriously bright.
All quietly and sweetly
The flowers are folded now,
With dewy gems upon their hearts,
And blushes on their brow,
While wind-harps thrill melodiously
In every forest bough.
The flowers are folded now,
With dewy gems upon their hearts,
And blushes on their brow,
While wind-harps thrill melodiously
In every forest bough.
My full heart gushes over
With strange and mournful flow;
And mystic memory leads me
Back to the long ago,
Ere came a shadow o'er my soul—
An undertone of woe.
With strange and mournful flow;
And mystic memory leads me
Back to the long ago,
Ere came a shadow o'er my soul—
An undertone of woe.
I do not weep that swiftly
My barque of life floats on;
I would not if I could return
To childhood's brightning dawn—
I would not taste again the bliss
Of hours forever gone.
My barque of life floats on;
I would not if I could return
To childhood's brightning dawn—
I would not taste again the bliss
Of hours forever gone.
Oh no! each revolution
Of Time's ne'er ceasing wheel
Brings but the light and shadows
That every heart must feel—
As the goddess of the future
Her changes doth reveal.
Of Time's ne'er ceasing wheel
Brings but the light and shadows
That every heart must feel—
As the goddess of the future
Her changes doth reveal.
Earth, earth, thou art most beautiful,
Yet sorrow dwelleth here;
The thorn crown presseth heavily
While falls affections tear;
And the brightest path hath something
To make a mortal drear.
Yet sorrow dwelleth here;
The thorn crown presseth heavily
While falls affections tear;
And the brightest path hath something
To make a mortal drear.
Oh, earth, thou art most beautiful;
But lovelier the sky;
Each woe below but fits us
For journeying on high;—
If earth were all a paradise,
We would not wish to die.
But lovelier the sky;
Each woe below but fits us
For journeying on high;—
If earth were all a paradise,
We would not wish to die.