Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1823.pdf/36



I must turn from this idol: I am kneeling With vows and homage only made for heaven; I must turn from this idol. I have been Like to a child who plays with poisoned arrows, And then is wounded by them. I have yielded, Foolishly, fondly yielded, to the love Which is a curse and sickness to me now. I am as one who sleeps beneath the power Of some wild dream; hopes, fears, and burning throbs Of strange delight, dizzy anxieties, And looks and words dwelt upon overmuch, Fill up my feverish circle of existence. My spirit wanders wildly: all in vain! I would bring order to my troubled thoughts; Like autumn leaves scattered by driving gales, They wander round. Once my heart's sleep was calm As a young bird's beneath its parent wing; That quiet is no more! for Love hath breathed Upon my heart, and with him came a train Of visionary things:—impatient hope, Sickening of its own vanity; and more Than all, concealment preys upon me; life But animate with emotion, which must yet Be hidden fire. Oh, I must, I must Turn from this idol! Our love is forbidden— You are above me, and in loving you— Oh God! I dare not think to what that leads: I dare not think on all I have been told Of all man's cruelty to woman—how He will soothe, flatter, vow, till he has won, And then repay her confidence with ruin,