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464 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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WILLIAM KENNEDY {Living)
THE POET'S HEART
T
HOU know'st it not, love, when light looks are around thee, When music awakens its liveliest tone, When pleasure in chains of enchantment hath bound thee, Thou know'st not how truly this heart is thine own. It is not while all are about thee in gladness,
While shining in light from thy young spirit's shrine, But in moments devoted to silence and sadness, That thou'lt e'er know the value of feelings like mine.
Should grief touch thy cheek, or misfortune o'ertake thee, How soon would thy mates of the summer decay ! They first of the whole fickle flock to forsake thee,
Who flattered thee most when thy bosom was gay.
What though I seem cold while their incense is
burning,
In the depths of my soul I have cherished a flame
To cheer the loved one should the night time of
mourning E'er send its far shadows to darken her name. |
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