TO FLORENCE.
Reading edition
———
BY PARK BENJAMIN.
———
Dear Florence! young and fair thou art,
Thy cheeks are like the rose’s heart—
The sweet, red rose, that’s newly born,
When from the faintly dappled sky,
Looks out the laughing glance of morn.
Alas! dear one, I can but sigh
To think how many years divide
Thy happy turn of life and mine!
A river rolleth deep and wide
Between my destined path and thine.
Still unto thee my fancy flies,
With thee my thoughts and visions dwell,
And from thy soft, celestial eyes
Comes sunshine to my hermit-cell.
I love thee! nay—turn not away!
I dare not hope—’twere worse than vain
To cherish in my heart a ray
Of feeling fraught with grief and pain.
All but thy image I resign;
With that I cannot part—it glows
With hues so lovely, so divine.
That though upon my head the snows
Of Age were cast, I yet should trace
The lines of thy enchanting face;
Still would thy form, instinct with grace,
Before me rise, and I should see,
In all things bright some types of thee!