Poems (Welby)/My Sisters

by Amelia Welby

MY SISTERS.

Like flowers that softly bloom together
 Upon one fair and fragile stem,
Mingling their sweets in sunny weather
 Ere strange rude hands have parted them,
So were we linked unto each other,
 Sweet Sisters, in our childish hours,
For then one fond and gentle mother
 To us was like the stem to flowers;
She was the golden thread, that bound us
 In one bright chain together here,
Till Death unloosed the cord around us
 And we were severed far and near.

The floweret's stem, when broke or shattered,
 Must cast its blossoms to the wind,
Yet, round the buds, though widely scattered
 The same soft perfume still we find;
And thus, although the tie is broken,
 That linked us round our mother's knee,
The memory of words we've spoken,
 When we were children light and free,
Will, like the perfume of each blossom,
 Live in our hearts where'er we roam,
As when we slept on one fond bosom,
 And dwelt within one happy home.

I know that changes have come o'er us;
 Sweet Sisters! we are not the same,
For different paths now lie before us
 And all three have a different name;
And yet, if sorrow's dimming fingers
 Have shadowed o'er each youthful brow,
So much of light around them lingers
 I cannot trace those shadows now.
Ye both have those, who love ye only,
 Whose dearest hopes are round you thrown,
While, like a stream that wanders lonely,
 Am I, the youngest, wildest one.

My heart is like the wind, that beareth
 Sweet scents upon its unseen wing—
The wind! that for no creature careth,
 Yet stealeth sweets from every thing;
It hath rich thoughts for ever leaping
 Up, like the waves of flashing seas,
That with their music still are keeping
 Soft time with every fitful breeze;
Each leaf that in the bright air quivers,
 The sounds from hidden solitudes,
And the deep flow of far-off rivers,
 And the loud rush of many floods;
All these, and more, stir in my bosom
 Feelings that make my spirit glad,
Like dew-drops shaken in a blossom;
 And, yet there is a something sad
Mixed with those thoughts, like clouds, that hover
 Above us in the quiet air,
Veiling the moon's pale beauty over,
 Like a dark spirit brooding there.

But, Sisters! those wild thoughts were never
 Yours! ye would not love, like me,
To gaze upon the stars for ever,
 To hear the wind's wild melody.
Ye 'd rather look on smiling faces,
 And linger round a cheerful hearth,
Than mark the stars' bright hiding-places
 As they peep out upon the earth.
But, Sisters! as the stars of even
 Shrink from day's golden flashing eye.
And, melting in the depths of heaven,
 Veil their soft beams within the sky;
So shall we pass, the joyous-hearted,
 The fond, the young, like stars that wane,
Till every link of earth be parted,
 To form in heaven one mystic chain.