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Thy day without a cloud hath past, And thou wert lovely to the last;
Extinguish'd, not decay'd;
As stars that shoot along the sky Shine brightest as they fall from high.
As once I wept, if I could weep
To gaze, how fondly on thy face,
And show that love, however vain,
Yet how much less it were to gain, Though thou hast left me free, The loveliest things that still remain, Than thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity,
And more thy buried love endears
If sometimes in the haunts of men
The semblance of thy gentle shade:
Thus much of thee can still restore, And sorrow unobserved may pour The plaint she dare not speak before.
Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile,
If not the Goblet pass unquaff'd,
And could Oblivion set my soul
From all her troubled visions free,
For wert thou vanish'd from my mind,
No, No-it is my sorrow's pride
For well I know, that such had been
A blessing never meant for me;
March 14th, 1812.
ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS
ILL-FATED Heart! and can it be
That thou shouldst thus be rent in twain ?
Have years of care for thine and thee
Yet precious seems each shatter'd part,
[This poem and the following were written some years ago.]
TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND.
FEW years have pass'd since thou and I
Preserved our feelings long the same.
But now, like me, too well thou know'st What trifles oft the heart recall;
And those who once have loved the most Too soon forget they loved at all.
And such the change the heart displays,
If so, it never shall be mine
To mourn the loss of such a heart; The fault was Nature's fault, not thine, Which made thee fickle as thou art.
As rolls the ocean's changing tide,
It boots not, that together bred,