THE POET’S PRAYER.
Reading edition
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BY MRS. EMMA C. EMBURY.
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Leave me not, Love! ’twas thus a poet chanted
His heart’s fond pleadings to the midnight air—
Leave not the dwelling by thy presence haunted,
The home thou long hast filled with visions fair.
Oh, leave me not! although thy fleeting pleasures
Are but as snow-flakes in the sun’s warm ray;
Though thy best gifts are only fairy treasures,
A golden glitter flung o’er things of clay;
Yet leave me not!—all earthly hopes have perished,
And e’en thine hour of promise has gone by,
But I would fain the fond illusion cherish
Which still in joy or sorrow brought thee nigh.
Perhaps my hand, like hers[4] in olden story,
Let fall the burning drop that broke thy rest,
Marring by base distrust thy veiléd glory,
And scaring thee too rudely from my breast;
Yet leave me not!—although thy shrine be broken,
Though all its votive wreaths are long since gone,
Faith lingers there, albeit the prayer, unspoken,
Dies on her lip like sorrow’s half-breathed moan.