Poems (Lambert)/The Blight of Love
THE BLIGHT OF LOVE.
MANY long years ago, I loved a youth,Who seemed the soul of honor and of truth—He charmed my heart with some unholy spell,He was a serpent, whom I loved so well.
The blush of girlhood had just ting'd my cheek;He knew me young—perchance he thought me weak.'Tis said, he often boasted of his power,To gather for his own each new-blown flower.
My simple language can not well describeHow first he stood before me in his pride;His form was cast in beauty's manly mould;His eyes shot fire, and his hair was gold.
Fain, fain would I describe to you his glance;One look enough, to throw me in a trance;His flute-like voice—ah! from my sleep I woke,When on mine ear the cadence gently broke.
A month passed by: he lingered by my side,Longed for the time, when I should be his bride;Ah! bitter ending, of that month of years,A life of sorrow, and a life of tears.
The scathing truth, like any lightning stroke,Fel'd me to earth, and my poor heart was broke;He, frightened, turned and left me, with my woe,For, in my wrath, I sternly bade him go.
I've never loved again; for there, and then,All my faith vanished in the truth of men.Of that short month, 'tis seldom that I speak,And to forget my youth, in vain I seek.