Poems (Welby)/To ———

by Amelia Welby

For works with similar titles, see To —.

TO ———.

Wilt thou not think of me with mournful heart,
When our warm lips and clasping hands shall part?
   And in thy soul's deep cell
Will not my memory be treasured up,
Fresh as the dews that in the lily's cup
   In sweetness dwell?

And, as those dropping dews upon the flowers
Sweeten their leaves through all the dreamy hours
   When weary eyelids close,
So may my memory, in thine hours of gloom,
Be to thy soul a balm, a soft perfume,
   To soothe thy woes.

I'd have thee think of me when thou art gone,
As one round whom a fairy spell is thrown
   Of bright poetic dreams,
Whose sweet wild thoughts, from their unfathomed fount,
The heart, like flashing waters, upward mount
   In sparkling gleams.

And, when thy wandering feet are roaming o'er
The golden sands of some bright, distant shore,
   Where the soft-chanting waves
Murmur their dirge-like music low and deep
Over the depths where wild, wild spirits sleep
   In their dark caves—

Then think of her whose heart, 'mid scenes like these,
Would thrill and echo to each passing breeze
   And to the water's chime—
Into whose eyes unbidden tears would rush,
Till from her heart her feelings all would gush
   In untaught rhyme.

And when Night spreads o'er all her sable shroud,
The time when sweet emotions softly crowd
   Within the human breast,
Will not the memory of these thoughts of love,
Scarce owned by us, yet registered above,
   Make thee more blest!

By the love-links that round our young hearts wreathe,
By all we feel, but cannot, dare not breathe,
   Whate'er may be our lot,
And by thy fond glance melting into mine,
I ask of thee, where'er that glance may shine,
   Forget me not!