Poems (Cook)/Stanzas (Though like the marble rock of old)
For works with similar titles, see Stanzas.
STANZAS.
though like the marble rock of old,
This heart may seem all hard and cold,
Yet, like that rock, a touch will bring
The water from the secret spring:
Let Memory breathe her softest tone,
With magic force it breaks the stone;
And forth will gush, all fresh and bright,
The living tide of love and light,
That pours in vain.
This heart may seem all hard and cold,
Yet, like that rock, a touch will bring
The water from the secret spring:
Let Memory breathe her softest tone,
With magic force it breaks the stone;
And forth will gush, all fresh and bright,
The living tide of love and light,
That pours in vain.
Though like the cloud of gather'd storm,
This brow may be of dull, dark form;
Yet, like that cloud, the brow may bear
The spirit lightning hidden there.
The pensive mood, with charmless frown,
May weigh my heavy eyelids down;
The gloom is deep, but it is fraught
With flashings of electric thought,
That burst in pain.
This brow may be of dull, dark form;
Yet, like that cloud, the brow may bear
The spirit lightning hidden there.
The pensive mood, with charmless frown,
May weigh my heavy eyelids down;
The gloom is deep, but it is fraught
With flashings of electric thought,
That burst in pain.
The eastern flower of desert birth
Is prized not while it decks the earth;
But, snatch'd and gather'd, crush'd and dead,
Is valued for its odour shed.
And so this lyre, whose native sound
Scarce wins the ear of those around,
May wear a richer wreath of bay,
When still in death the hand shall lay
That wakes its strain.
Is prized not while it decks the earth;
But, snatch'd and gather'd, crush'd and dead,
Is valued for its odour shed.
And so this lyre, whose native sound
Scarce wins the ear of those around,
May wear a richer wreath of bay,
When still in death the hand shall lay
That wakes its strain.