Poems (Griffith)/To My Georgie
To my Georgie.
MY cousin, I am gazing on thee now, And well I mark, with soul of joy and pride, The changing beauty of thy glorious face. With rapture swelling in my heart of love I gaze upon thy young and joyous cheek, Where roses pure reveal their richest dyes, And shed their sweetest perfume—thy soft eye, Thy soft, meek eye of mild and tender blue, Trembling beneath its dark and fringy lash, And glowing with the spirit-dreams that seem Reflected from its calm, mysterious depths, Like gems from ocean-caves—thy lofty brow O'er which the blue veins stray like tranquil streams Along a lovely plain—thy temples pale, Where thy brown wealth of waving tresses floats In beautiful luxuriance—thy lips Of richest coral, where a thousand smiles Appear and flee in frolic chase, like birds Around a sleeping lake at morning-tide— I gaze on these, sweet cousin, and in all I see a spirit of deep purity; A living, breathing, glowing soul of deep And holy purity, from which dark Vice And Sin would cower and fly, rebuked and quelled As by Religion's power.
My cousin dear, Thou art a very dream of loveliness, And beauty is thy purity. Thou art A creature whose high soul is troubled not With the temptations of a world of sin. Thy gentle spirit here hath kept undimmed The angel-charm on which our God in heaven Set His own signet of unchanging truth. I love thee, and I reverence thy high And holy strength of purpose. Gentleness, And loftiness, and virtue are in all Thy feelings, and they stamp thy mortal life With an immortal beauty.
Cousin dear, As here I fix my tearful eyes on thee, And hear thy tones of pure and gentle love, My spirit seems to see an angel's form, And hear the cadence of an angel's voice. Thou art young, pure, and sweet—life beckons thee To a bright destiny. Thy loving friends Are ever, ever round thee, making earth All that thy true and gentle heart could crave In its wild fairy visions. There are those For ever round thy glowing path, who flingA brightness on thy being, and to whom Thy own sweet life is as the radiant beam And the refreshing dew-drop to the parched And desert earth. Ay, thou art blest with all That makes life beautiful, with not one cloud To dim thy heaven. Thus may it ever be, Dear friend, with thee. May no dark sorrows e'er Come o'er thy tranquil life, like those that frown So dark o'er my sad fate. Oh I would pray The Power who sends to me a night of grief And storm of bitter tears, to give to thee The bright sky where no thunder-cloud e'er breaks The holy blue to give thee a bright path, Where no foul serpents coil to blight and The angels' shining footsteps, and no thorns Mingle with love's pure garlands.
Cousin sweet, May peace, and joy, and hope be thine on earth May these e'er be thy blessed ministers, Thy guardian-spirits here, and may they crown Thy beaming brow in God's own Paradise, With their bright wreath of immortality.
Ohio River, June 23