Poems (Rice)/To Mrs. L———
TO MRS, L———.
AGAIN in the temple, sweet lady; but why,
May I ask, art thou clad in that sorrowing dress?
I never had learned the destroyer came nigh
To take from thine arms what thou lovedst to caress;
'Mid the pause of responses, again and again
I fancied I caught a grief-stricken sigh,
Thrilling alike my own bosom with pain,
While words from the pastor ascended on high.
May I ask, art thou clad in that sorrowing dress?
I never had learned the destroyer came nigh
To take from thine arms what thou lovedst to caress;
'Mid the pause of responses, again and again
I fancied I caught a grief-stricken sigh,
Thrilling alike my own bosom with pain,
While words from the pastor ascended on high.
Again in the temple, sweet lady; O, say,
What changes came o'er thee to sadden thy brow?
When sympathy moves me, its voice I obey,
Thy pardon I crave for intruding just now:
This place, to thee sacred, so precious to all,
Has a charm, a repose, which I cannot define;
'T will ever the past and its pictures recall,
Uniting the heart with the loved, the divine.
What changes came o'er thee to sadden thy brow?
When sympathy moves me, its voice I obey,
Thy pardon I crave for intruding just now:
This place, to thee sacred, so precious to all,
Has a charm, a repose, which I cannot define;
'T will ever the past and its pictures recall,
Uniting the heart with the loved, the divine.