Poems (Griffith)/To ———, during his Illness
To ———, During his Illness.
THOU wilt not leave me, Love, to pine alone
Upon the dreary desert of the world.
Thou wilt not, must not, nay, thou canst not die,
And leave me here, a lonely, withering flower,
Torn from its parent stem and torn from thee,
Its dear flower-mate, and thrown upon the cold
Unsympathizing earth to sigh away
Its breath upon the gales of autumn. Thou
Must never leave me, dearest, for with thee
My spirit's life would perish.
Upon the dreary desert of the world.
Thou wilt not, must not, nay, thou canst not die,
And leave me here, a lonely, withering flower,
Torn from its parent stem and torn from thee,
Its dear flower-mate, and thrown upon the cold
Unsympathizing earth to sigh away
Its breath upon the gales of autumn. Thou
Must never leave me, dearest, for with thee
My spirit's life would perish.
I have marked
Thy pale cheek growing paler; I have watched
The bright, unearthly glitter of thine eye,
And seen the crimson spot upon thy brow,
The omens of the grave. Thy pallid lip
Trembles as with a keen, unspoken pain,
And there are times when o'er thy sunken face
Deep, mournful shadows, and bright spirit-gleams,
Follow each other, telling that thy thoughts
Are of the tomb and heaven.
Thy pale cheek growing paler; I have watched
The bright, unearthly glitter of thine eye,
And seen the crimson spot upon thy brow,
The omens of the grave. Thy pallid lip
Trembles as with a keen, unspoken pain,
And there are times when o'er thy sunken face
Deep, mournful shadows, and bright spirit-gleams,
Follow each other, telling that thy thoughts
Are of the tomb and heaven.
Thy hand is cold,
And damp and deathlike when 'tis pressed in mine,
And though few years have yet been thine on earth,
Bright silver threads, like waning spectres, gleam
Amid the raven curls that float around
Thy temples pale. Thy voice hath fainter grown,
And though its melody is sweeter now
Than even when, in thy young years of health
And manly strength, thy first dear words of love
Were breathed into my ear, its sweetness seems
Caught from the spirit-world. Ay, its low tones
Soften and melt, each day, as if they were
Attuning, even now, their cadences
To join the angel harmonies that float
Upon the air of Eden.
And damp and deathlike when 'tis pressed in mine,
And though few years have yet been thine on earth,
Bright silver threads, like waning spectres, gleam
Amid the raven curls that float around
Thy temples pale. Thy voice hath fainter grown,
And though its melody is sweeter now
Than even when, in thy young years of health
And manly strength, thy first dear words of love
Were breathed into my ear, its sweetness seems
Caught from the spirit-world. Ay, its low tones
Soften and melt, each day, as if they were
Attuning, even now, their cadences
To join the angel harmonies that float
Upon the air of Eden.
Yet, oh stay!
The earth is beautiful to thee; and while
Thou lingerest here, thy presence makes it bright
And beautiful to me. Stay! stay! oh stay!
And do not leave my life a cheerless night,
Without one gleaming star upon the cold
Blue desert of its sky. My heart has flung
The whole wealth of its hoarded love on thee;
Fame's choicest garland blooms upon thy brow,
Won proudly by thy glorious genius; thine
Is the loud worship of the shouting throng;
Fortune has poured her treasures at thy feet,
And many friends, who love thee earnestly,
Are watching with alternate hope and fear
From day to day the changes of thy face,
Betokening life or death.
The earth is beautiful to thee; and while
Thou lingerest here, thy presence makes it bright
And beautiful to me. Stay! stay! oh stay!
And do not leave my life a cheerless night,
Without one gleaming star upon the cold
Blue desert of its sky. My heart has flung
The whole wealth of its hoarded love on thee;
Fame's choicest garland blooms upon thy brow,
Won proudly by thy glorious genius; thine
Is the loud worship of the shouting throng;
Fortune has poured her treasures at thy feet,
And many friends, who love thee earnestly,
Are watching with alternate hope and fear
From day to day the changes of thy face,
Betokening life or death.
Then live, oh live
For me, for friends, for glory, for mankind!
Thy strength of soul has made thee conqueror
In every mortal strife. Oh struggle now
With the last enemy! Ah, well I know
That thou, whose tones were never breathed in vain,
Canst, by their deep, enchanting music, win
The angel health back to thy life once more.
For me, for friends, for glory, for mankind!
Thy strength of soul has made thee conqueror
In every mortal strife. Oh struggle now
With the last enemy! Ah, well I know
That thou, whose tones were never breathed in vain,
Canst, by their deep, enchanting music, win
The angel health back to thy life once more.
Louisville, 1852.
THE END.