Poems (Eliza Gabriella Lewis)/To Cora
Thence it came,That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself, Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye The dust that did offend it."—Shakspeare.
TO CORA.
By the memories deep and thrilling. By each slumbering chord of joy, By each fond hope of the future— Hope's absence may destroy; Return, my being's idol, Whilst life's in each warm vein; Return—return to love's true shrine, I call thee back again.
Thou art the spirit of my dreams, My being's very soul; I think of thee till passion spurns All reason—all control; I'll hold thee yet the dearer And strive with mingled art, (Art taught by Love) to win again That proud but gentle heart.
I have gloried in thy name, love, I have trembled for thy weal, The eloquence of those dear lips Thro' every pulse I feel; And when I list to others, and They name thy treasured name, Mingled with praises of thy worth, Thy talents and thy fame.
My kindling brow, my blushing cheek, My throbbing heart betray—That o'er my bosom love hath won A wild, unbounded sway. Return then, my beloved, Whilst life throbs in each vein,For death in life I suffer 'till Thou com'st to me again.