the seven chords of the lyre.
95
Let them fear death, who, wearied with long strife,
Yet struggle onwards creditors to life,
For some poor tardy boon which flies their grasp;
But I, with joy's flush roses on my cheek—
But I, who hold Love's lilies in my clasp,
Know full content; one rose-leaf more would break
The fair proportions of my happiness:
Let death take all, ere life can make it less.
Yet struggle onwards creditors to life,
For some poor tardy boon which flies their grasp;
But I, with joy's flush roses on my cheek—
But I, who hold Love's lilies in my clasp,
Know full content; one rose-leaf more would break
The fair proportions of my happiness:
Let death take all, ere life can make it less.
NO. IV.—DOUBT.
O'er the "white wonder" of that orbed breast,
Through which the blue luxurious veins seem proud
To bear the roseate life, dar'st thou to rest,
Malignant asp, more envious than the cloud
That sears the glories of the summer sky,
And brings foul tempests where was golden calm?
More envious and more stern, clouds break and die,
And tempests pass, but thou, amid the balm,
And joy and perfume of that soft domain,
Defeaturing all its beauty doth remain,
And taintest with thy sharp envenomed power
That life's sweet pride, till life itself be o'er!
So stings this doubt which pierces through my heart,
And wars with love, till love itself depart.
Through which the blue luxurious veins seem proud
To bear the roseate life, dar'st thou to rest,
Malignant asp, more envious than the cloud
That sears the glories of the summer sky,
And brings foul tempests where was golden calm?
More envious and more stern, clouds break and die,
And tempests pass, but thou, amid the balm,
And joy and perfume of that soft domain,
Defeaturing all its beauty doth remain,
And taintest with thy sharp envenomed power
That life's sweet pride, till life itself be o'er!
So stings this doubt which pierces through my heart,
And wars with love, till love itself depart.
