She felt my lips' impassioned touch—
'Twas the first time I dared so much,
And yet she chid not;
But whispered o'er my burning brow,
"Oh! do you doubt I love you now?"
Sweet soul! I did not.
Warmly I felt her bosom thrill,
I prest it closer, closer still,
Though gently bid not;
Till—oh! the world hath seldom heard
Of lovers, who so nearly erred,
And yet, who did not.
TO …….
That wrinkle, when first I espied it,
At once put my heart out of pain;
Till the eye, that was glowing beside it,
Disturbed my ideas again.
Thou art just in the twilight at present,
When woman's declension begins;
When, fading from all that is pleasant,
She bids a good night to her sins.
Yet thou still art so lovely to me,
I would sooner, my exquisite mother!
Repose in the sunset of thee,
Than bask in the noon of another.
TO MRS. …….
ON SOME CALUMNIES AGAINST HER CHARACTER.
Is not thy mind a gentle mind?
Is not that heart a heart refined?
Hast thou not every gentle grace,
We love in woman's mind and face?
And, oh! art thou a shrine for Sin
To hold her hateful worship in?
No, no, be happy—dry that tear—
Though some thy heart hath harbored near,
May now repay its love with blame;
Though man, who ought to shield thy fame,
Ungenerous man, be first to shun thee;
Though all the world look cold upon thee,
Yet shall thy pureness keep thee still
Unharmed by that surrounding chill;
Like the famed drop, in crystal found,[1]
Floating, while all was frozen round,—
Unchilled unchanging shalt thou be,
Safe in thy own sweet purity.