Poems by Violet Fane [i. Lamb] poems by violet fane i e m m lamb With Portrait engraved by E. Copy portions of English Poetry on to a temporary, non commercial electronic database for temporary use or storage during research. Include portions of English Poetry, and concordances of single words and phrases: in any article in a printed journal, or in a single essay or contribution which forms part of a printed collection, or in any printed monograph or critical edition.
John C. TO HIM. I dedicate these few poor lines to Him ,— Love of my Life! Dearest of my desires! Some written in the dew of earlier tears Than longings for his love have caused to flow, And others written in the sunny glow Of years which he has bless'd,—thrice happy years! I give Him not alone the thoughts I frame, With them, the erring heart from which they sprung, And all the dearest accents that my tongue Can kiss into the music of His name!
Oh, could I write out on a golden scroll The essence of my being! I wrote upon the shining sands The name that I loved the best, Ere I saw the sun, in a glow of light, Sink down in the distant West. Then the wild sea-breeze blew loud and shrill, Yet I linger'd by the shore, Till the waves crept over the written word, And I saw that name no more. And tho' it was only a written word, Yet I would that it had stay'd, For I learnt a lesson true and sad, As I watch'd those letters fade; And I wonder'd if there were a land,— A far-off heav'nly place,— Where the letters traced on the heart's warm sand, Time's waves would not efface!
Before the mem'ries and the tears Of alter'd times and after years Had risen bleak and bare; And like a wall, between our hearts Had shut out Hope and Truth, And tinged the brightest years of Life With darker thoughts, and keener strife, Than well became our youth!
Oh, sing that song you sang before, And as its notes shall ring I'll close my eyes and dream once more That I am as I was of yore When last I heard you sing! To dream on what was but a dream, To wait and watch, in vain, in vain! To long in darkness for a beam Of that past hope which now is slain; To look and long, to watch and pray, For that which cannot be again; This is the madness of my soul, Thy love can never reach as far, There are two halves in every whole, But these, in Love, unequal are; And when I know how great is mine, I feel, perforce, how small is thine!
