She has around her sunshine and sweet flowers,
And music which might lull her heart to rest;
But peace has fled for ever from her breast,
And hope can gild no more her joyless hours.
Ah! ye who gaze upon that girlish brow,
So radiant still with beauty's beams unshorn,
Can little guess the anguish it has home,
Or deem what misery wrings it even now.
Look on those eyes where love has reared a throne,
Filling the gazer's soul with tender dread;
Alas! what tears of sorrow have they shed,
How many a sleepless vigil have they known.
That mouth, a paradise of rosy bloom,
Has never uttered one fond word of woe;
Her voiceless sorrow "passes outward show,"
And only hopes for peace within the tomb.
And yet fond bud of beauty, as thou art,
Will not the false, tho' still adored, return!
He will, to mourn above the insensate urn,
Which holds the ashes of a broken heart.
First published in The Weekly Register of Politics, Facts and General Literature, 5 July 1845
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography
See also.
And music which might lull her heart to rest;
But peace has fled for ever from her breast,
And hope can gild no more her joyless hours.
Ah! ye who gaze upon that girlish brow,
So radiant still with beauty's beams unshorn,
Can little guess the anguish it has home,
Or deem what misery wrings it even now.
Look on those eyes where love has reared a throne,
Filling the gazer's soul with tender dread;
Alas! what tears of sorrow have they shed,
How many a sleepless vigil have they known.
That mouth, a paradise of rosy bloom,
Has never uttered one fond word of woe;
Her voiceless sorrow "passes outward show,"
And only hopes for peace within the tomb.
And yet fond bud of beauty, as thou art,
Will not the false, tho' still adored, return!
He will, to mourn above the insensate urn,
Which holds the ashes of a broken heart.
First published in The Weekly Register of Politics, Facts and General Literature, 5 July 1845
Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography
See also.
