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Heaves my poor shatter'd bark. I go,
Undaunted-whither? Morn shall shew,
Hope, farewell !
WOMAN! dear Woman! in whose name
Wife, Sister, Mother meet:
Thine is the heart by earliest claim,
And thine its latest beat.
In thee the angel virtues shine;
And lead the soul to heaven.
From thee we draw our infant strength;
Thou art our childhood's friend;
And when the man unfolds at length,
On thee his hopes depend. For round the heart thy power has spun A thousand dear mysterious ties. Then take the heart thy charms have won,
And nurse it for the skies.
O give me back the flower I brought
From shades beloved by Thee: Its leaves, with nameless fancies fraught,
Breathe fragrant memory.
No, keep it-it has bloom'd its hour;
Nor can I bear to see,
In dying languor, ev'n the flower
That lives the type of thee.
O SPARE me not-for I can bear
To meet the sterpness of thine eye;
And, if I meet affection there,
Can well endure its scrutiny.
I fear it not: within
Whatever lurking error live,
That fault alone thou canst not find,
Which only thou couldst ne'er forgive.
Yes; spare me not. I would not be
Blindly beloved, but fully tried ; From every lighter failing free,
That might alarm or wound thy pride. Yet, still believe, if e'er I seem
Absent or dull while thou art nigh,
Ev'n then it is of thee I dream,
For thee, in deep abstraction, sigh.
If others, in that dreaming mood,
My idle thoughts appear to share, I'm all thine own in solitude,
And find my sweetest converse there.
Throw, Father Time, thy hour-glass by!
As if thou couldst, with tyrant power,
Fix the brief limits of an hour ;
As if those sands that ebb away,
Hours, minutes, seconds, form’d a day.