Poems (Eliza Gabriella Lewis)/Medora's Song

by Eliza Gabriella Lewis

MEDORA'S SONG.

Ah! let me rest thus at thy side,
 As I was wont of yore,
And touch my Lyre, whose every chord
 Is filled with love's sweet lore;

And clasp thine hand within mine own—
 The hand I love to press,
And feel thou hast returned to me,
 In all thy faithfulness.

'Twas sad to raise my eyes alone,
 Unanswered by thine own,
To listen until sinking hope
 Had lost thy faintest tone.

To feel the magic of thy voice
 But come to me in dreams,
As rest the shadows of sweet flowers
 Upon the moon-lit streams.

That pleasant voice that speaks to me
 Of passion's fervent hour;
Hours which o'er life's worst darkness fling
 Affection's soothing power.

As morning hues upon the sea
 Seem blended with the sky,
From which it borrows all the tints
 That on its calm waves lie.

So blended seems my soul with thine,
 So borrow I sweet thought,
In gazing on those deep-soul'd eyes,
 So with love's mysteries fraught.

Then let me rest thus by thy side,
 And feel that thou art near,
For never, till we parted, love,
 Knew I thou wert so dear.