Page:Poems of Sentiment and Imagination.djvu/179

 And said to my proud heart—'And this is fame!'
 * It only answered with a feverish thrill.

And so I turned away from that I sought,
 * And poured my soul out on the poet's lyre,

And much of bliss and much of pain it brought.
 * Shall I tell further, love?—or dost thou tire?"


 * Do the angels ever weary
 * Of the strains they hear above?
 * Tell me how the poet's myrtles
 * Shone among thy ringlets, love."

Upon a placid brow their leaves did shine.
 * But my wild heart was burning fire beneath,

Because I strove Ambition's thorns to twine
 * Among the gentler blossoms of my wreath;

One great thought struggled upward in my soul.
 * As the sea heaves toward heav'n—that thought of fame!

And the deep music of its surging roll
 * The world called song!—its echo was a name!

The sound was hollow, and my brain soon burned
 * To hear it ever ringing in my ear.

Ambition was a mocker ! and I spurn'd
 * What I had sought for as a prize most dear!

In this deep restlessness I ever yearned
 * For something, which I knew not then was love,

And my soul's sea a saddened brow upturned.
 * And murmured ever to the stars above.

Twas then that vision stole into my breast.
 * So spiritual, so perfect, pure, and sweet;

And all in glad surprise, I thought how blest
 * Would my life be if I could only meet,

Within this breathing world, a creature rare,
 * Like that so exquisite, so young, so bright;

With such a gift of song—such forehead fair—
 * Such proud, pure eyes, full of deep, shadowy light!