THERE is a mystic thread of life So dearly wreathed with mine alone, That Destiny's relentless knife At once must sever both, or none. There is a Form on which these eyes Have fondly gazed with such delight -- By day, that Form their joy supplies, And Dreams restore it, through the night. There is a Voice whose tones inspire Such soften'd feelings in my breast, I would not hear a Seraph Choir, Unless that voice could join the rest. There is a Face whose Blushes tell Affection's tale upon the cheek, But pallid at our fond farewell, Proclaims more love than words can speak. There is a Lip, which mine has prest, But none had ever prest before; It vow'd to make me sweetly blest, That mine alone should press it more. There is a Bosom all my own, Has pillow'd oft this aching head, A Mouth which smiles on me alone, An Eye, whose tears with mine are shed. There are two Hearts whose movements thrill, In unison so closely sweet, That Pulse to Pulse responsive still They Both must heave, or cease to beat. There are two Souls, whose equal flow In gentle stream so calmly run, That when they part -- they part? -- ah no! They cannot part -- those Souls are One. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PASSING BY by THOMAS FORD (1580-1648) SONNET: 102 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 101 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE PRINCESS: SONG by ALFRED TENNYSON THE FLAT-HUNTER'S WAY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE BURIED LIFE by MATTHEW ARNOLD |