Poems (Griffith)/To a Friend
For works with similar titles, see To a Friend.
To a Friend.
OH thou hast called me thy own sister dear,
And my wild heart, o'erfilled with burning love,
Hath sprung, as springs the lark at early morn,
To greet the golden beam of day's proud star;
Or, as the pale and fainting floweret turns
Its wilted leaves to the refreshing dew.
Dost ask to read this wayward heart of mine,
To scan its agonies, its wild, deep griefs?
Would'st thou not turn away from me, when o'er
That volume dark thine eye should roam? Oh, say,
Could'st love me still, friend of my darkened years?
Life's weary sands are failing fast. When thou
Lookest upon this still and haughty face,
Dost thou e'er dream that passion's maddening tide
All wildly rolls below? Ah, dost thou dream
That smiles, which flit like golden shadows o'er
My careless brow, have lost the power to soothe
The wild and dark unrest of mind and heart?
That like a fiendish power, ambition works
Within my brain, and fiercely riots on
My warm and bounding sold? Each energy
Of my strong nature, now is bent to gain
Fame's lofty summit, and I may not stop
Life's flowers to gather. Better then that thou
Should'st leave me now, and see me nevermore.
Ne'er may we hope, within this world of woe,
The separate currents of our lives to blend;
Yet we have met and loved, and ere we part,
I fain would lay my hand upon thy brow,
And bless thee purely, deeply, fervently,
And ask thee, in the pure depths of thy soul,
One flower to keep for ever 'mid life's stern
And rushing conflict—the deep, earnest love
Of her whom thou hast called thy sister dear.
And my wild heart, o'erfilled with burning love,
Hath sprung, as springs the lark at early morn,
To greet the golden beam of day's proud star;
Or, as the pale and fainting floweret turns
Its wilted leaves to the refreshing dew.
Dost ask to read this wayward heart of mine,
To scan its agonies, its wild, deep griefs?
Would'st thou not turn away from me, when o'er
That volume dark thine eye should roam? Oh, say,
Could'st love me still, friend of my darkened years?
Life's weary sands are failing fast. When thou
Lookest upon this still and haughty face,
Dost thou e'er dream that passion's maddening tide
All wildly rolls below? Ah, dost thou dream
That smiles, which flit like golden shadows o'er
My careless brow, have lost the power to soothe
The wild and dark unrest of mind and heart?
That like a fiendish power, ambition works
Within my brain, and fiercely riots on
My warm and bounding sold? Each energy
Of my strong nature, now is bent to gain
Fame's lofty summit, and I may not stop
Life's flowers to gather. Better then that thou
Should'st leave me now, and see me nevermore.
Ne'er may we hope, within this world of woe,
The separate currents of our lives to blend;
Yet we have met and loved, and ere we part,
I fain would lay my hand upon thy brow,
And bless thee purely, deeply, fervently,
And ask thee, in the pure depths of thy soul,
One flower to keep for ever 'mid life's stern
And rushing conflict—the deep, earnest love
Of her whom thou hast called thy sister dear.
Louisville, Ky