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TO F----.
BELOVED! amid the earnest woes
That crowd around my earthly path--
Drear path, alas! where grows
(
Not even one lonely rose)--
My soul at least a solace hath
In dreams of thee, and therein knows
An Eden of bland repose.
And thus thy memory is to me
Like some enchanted far-off isle
In some tumultuos sea--
Some ocean throbbing far and free
With storms--but where meanwhile
Serenest skies continually
Just o're that one bright island smile.
1
845.
TO FRANCES S. OSGOOD
THOU wouldst be loved?--then let thy heart
228
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