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Till, thrill'd with exquisite sensation,
My very heart would weep.
Yet, dearer lives in my
One autumn day, that briefly fled,
Than all those months whose beauteous semblance
Still hovers round my head.
Thy presence gave the charm elysian
To all that breathed around me there;
And memory of it fills the vision
With hours for ever fair.
Then, though exchanged the blest creation
Thy presence still, in every station,
No fond regrets nor vagrant fancies
For scenery which the soul entrances,
while thou art by.
And oh, that day, where'er its brightness
On wilderness or city shine,
My heart shall welcome in with lightness, My Love, while thou art mine.
Do I not love thee? Yes, how well,
How much a look of mine can mean;
Nor other lips than thine can guess
How deep the feeling mine express.
But thee both eyes and lips have told,
Yet now, in absence, all thou art,
And makes me feel that heart not yet
Has ever half discharged its debt.
For Memory, as to mock me, brings
And as its depths my thoughts explore,
I seem to feel thine absence more.
Shuddering I strive to pierce its shade,
Oh, art thou still a breathing form,
Lovely, and tangible, and warm?
So parted utterly we seem,
As though the past were all a dream;
And thou, as if unearthly, Dearest,
Oh, say, do wayward thoughts like these,
Tender regrets, wild phantasies,
And vague misgivings, ever find
Unbidden entrance to thy mind?
Oh, it would absence half repay,
To know my spirit held such sway
O'er thine, as that thou couldst not be,
Nor feel thyself, apart from me.
But absence cannot be repaid:
Fast, fast, the fleeting moments fade,
up life's allotted sum,
Brief and uncertain all to come.
Then let us not consume apart
The youth and spring-time of the heart.
Return, and I will bless the hour
That tells me all my fears were vain,
ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT SON.
[C. J. C. ob. Jan. 1818.]
WHEN I can trust my all with God,
In trial's fearful hour,
Bow all resign'd beneath his rod,
And bless his sparing power,
A joy springs up amid distress,
A fountain in the wilderness.