Poems (Osgood)/The Parting
For works with similar titles, see The Parting.
THE PARTING.
I look'd not—I sigh'd not—I dared not betray
The wild storm of feeling that strove to have way,
For I knew that each sign of the sorrow I felt
Her soul to fresh pity and passion would melt,
And calm was my voice, and averted my eyes,
As I parted from all that in being I prize.
The wild storm of feeling that strove to have way,
For I knew that each sign of the sorrow I felt
Her soul to fresh pity and passion would melt,
And calm was my voice, and averted my eyes,
As I parted from all that in being I prize.
I pined but one moment that form to enfold,
Yet the hand that touch'd hers like the marble was cold.—
I heard her voice falter a timid farewell,
Nor trembled, tho' soft on my spirit it fell,
And she knew not—she dream'd not the anguish of soul
Which only my pity for her could control.
Yet the hand that touch'd hers like the marble was cold.—
I heard her voice falter a timid farewell,
Nor trembled, tho' soft on my spirit it fell,
And she knew not—she dream'd not the anguish of soul
Which only my pity for her could control.
It is over,—the loveliest dream of delight
That ever illumined a wanderer's night!
Yet one gleam of comfort will brighten my way,
Tho' mournful and desolate ever I stray:
It is this, that to her—my idol, I spared
The pang, that her love could have soften'd and shared!
That ever illumined a wanderer's night!
Yet one gleam of comfort will brighten my way,
Tho' mournful and desolate ever I stray:
It is this, that to her—my idol, I spared
The pang, that her love could have soften'd and shared!