Poems (Eckley)/Sonnet to * * * * *
INCE I have held thy hand fast locked in mine,Thy beating heart prest close in love to me;Since first thy sweet voice murmured, "Only thine;Nor Time shall wrest this faithful heart from thee;"—I've gazed into thy deep and earnest eyes,And watch'd thy spirit's growth, until it seemedMy very soul for thee in death could rise,And even death would only be "I've dreamed;"For in thy love I live, and life were deadTo me, were thy sweet presence from me gone,And the soft breathings of thy love were fled,And I sate watching, waiting, and alone,To count the loves that have been given to me,Yet cry in anguish,—"Dearest! only thee!"
SONNET TO * * * * *
INCE I have held thy hand fast locked in mine,Thy beating heart prest close in love to me;Since first thy sweet voice murmured, "Only thine;Nor Time shall wrest this faithful heart from thee;"—I've gazed into thy deep and earnest eyes,And watch'd thy spirit's growth, until it seemedMy very soul for thee in death could rise,And even death would only be "I've dreamed;"For in thy love I live, and life were deadTo me, were thy sweet presence from me gone,And the soft breathings of thy love were fled,And I sate watching, waiting, and alone,To count the loves that have been given to me,Yet cry in anguish,—"Dearest! only thee!"