4596791Poems — Woman's LoveLucretia Maria Davidson
WOMAN'S LOVE.
They told me of her history. Her loveWas a neglected flame, which had consumedThe vase wherein it kindled. O how fraughtWith bitterness is unrequited love!To know that we have cast life's hope awayOn a vain shadow!Hers was a gentle passion, quiet, deep,As a woman's love should be,All tenderness and silence, only knownBy the soft meaning of a downcast eye,Which almost fears to look its timid thoughts;A sigh, scarce heard; a blush, scarce visible,Alone may give it utterance. Love isA beautiful feeling in a woman's heart,When felt as only woman love can feel!Pure as the snow-fall, when its latest showerSinks on spring-flowers; deep as a cave-locked fountain;And changeless as the cypress's green leaves,And like them, sad! She nourishedFond hopes and sweet anxieties, and fedA passion unconfessed, till he she lovedWas wedded to another. Then she grewMoody and melancholy; one aloneHad power to soothe her in her wanderings,—Her gentle sister; but that sister died,And the unhappy girl was left alone,A maniac. She would wander far, and shunnedHer own accustomed dwelling; and her hauntWas that dead sister's grave: and that to herWas as a home.
