WHEN, casting many a look behind, I leave the friends I cherish here -- Perchance some other friends to find, But surely finding none so dear -- Haply the little simple page, Which votive thus I've traced for thee May now and then a look engage, And steal a moment's thought for me. But, oh! in pity let not those Whose hearts are not of gentle mould, Let not the eye that seldom flows With feeling tear, my song behold. For, trust me, they who never melt With pity, never melt with love; And they will frown at all I've felt, And all my loving lays reprove. But if, perhaps, some gentler mind, Which rather loves to praise than blame, Should in my page an interest find, And linger kindly on my name; Tell him, -- or, oh! if, gentler still, By female lips my name be blest: Ah! where do all affections thrill So sweetly as in woman's breast? -- Tell her, that he whose loving themes Her eye indulgent wanders o'er, Could sometimes wake from idle dreams, And bolder flights of fancy soar; That Glory oft would claim the lay, And Friendship oft his numbers move; But whisper then, that, "sooth to say, His sweetest song was given to LoVE!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO CORINTH by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR THE CYNOTAPH by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM TO THE MEMORY OF H-- M-- by BERNARD BARTON LE ROI EST MORT. VIVE LE ROI! by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT NIMROD: 2 by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH THE STUDENT by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 12. TROCHAIC VERSE: THE EIGHTH EPIGRAM by THOMAS CAMPION CAVERNS; WRITTEN OF COLOSSAL CAVE, KENTUCKY by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN |