Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/215



which are colored from the dewy rose;

Lips, whence young smiles go forth and, where they rest:

A swan-like neck above a snowy breast,

Where many a golden curl light-waving flows.

A forehead bright as sunshine—hazel brows,

Pencil'd as if by art—their orbits drest

In living light of innocence,—repress'd

Each heaving sigh, and every breath that rose

Half-smother'd—thus it was that I was bound;

Love's thousand, thousand fetters me round:

What time he lull'd me with his sweet delusion,

Till I awoke, midst struggling, strife, and care;

Grief fought with hope, and fancy with despair,

And soul with sense—all conﬂict and confusion.