Poems by George Pope Morris Part 18

The winter of love Is the beam that we win While the storm scowls without, From the suns.h.i.+ne within.

Love's reign is eternal-- The heart is his throne, And he has all seasons Of life for his own.

My Woodland Bride.

Here upon the mountain-side Till now we met together; Here I won my woodland bride, In flush of summer weather.

Green was then the linden-bough, This dear retreat that shaded; Autumn winds are round me now, And the leaves have faded.

She whose heart was all my own, In this summer-bower, With all pleasant things has flown, Sunbeam, bird, and flower!

But her memory will stay With me, though we're parted-- From the scene I turn away, Lone and broken-hearted!

Oh, Think of Me!

Oh, think of me, my own beloved, Whatever cares beset thee!

And when thou hast the falsehood proved, Of those with smiles who met thee-- While o'er the sea, think, love, of me, Who never can forget thee; Let memory trace the trysting-place, Where I with tears regret thee.

Bright as you star, within my mind, A hand unseen hath set thee; There hath thine image been enshrined, Since first, dear love, I met thee; So in thy breast I fain would rest, If, haply, fate would let me-- And live or die, so thou wert nigh, To love or to regret me!

My Bark is Out Upon the Sea.

My bark is out upon the sea-- The moon's above; Her light a presence seems to me Like woman's love.

My native land I've left behind-- Afar I roam; In other climes no hearts I'll find Like those at home.

Of all yon sisterhood of stars, But one is true: She paves my path with silver bars, And beams like you, Whose purity the waves recall In music's flow, As round my bark they rise and fall In liquid snow.

The fresh'ning breeze now swells our sails!

A storm is on!

The weary moon's dim l.u.s.tre fails-- The stars are gone!

Not so fades Love's eternal light When storm-clouds weep; I know one heart's with me to-night Upon the deep!

Will n.o.body Marry Me?

Heigh-ho! for a husband!--Heigh-ho!

There's danger in longer delay!

Shall I never again have a beau?

Will n.o.body marry me, pray!

I begin to feel strange, I declare!

With beauty my prospects will fade-- I'd give myself up to despair If I thought I should die an old maid!

I once cut the beaux in a huff-- I thought it a sin and a shame That no one had spirit enough To ask me to alter my name.

So I turned up my nose at the short, And cast down my eyes at the tall; But then I just did it in sport-- And now I've no lover at all!

These men are the plague of my life: 'Tis hard from so many to choose!

Should any one wish for a wife, Could I have the heart to refuse?

I don't know--for none have proposed-- Oh, dear me!--I'm frightened, I vow!

Good gracious! who ever supposed That I should be single till now?

The Star of Love.

The star of love now s.h.i.+nes above, Cool zephyrs crisp the sea; Among the leaves the wind-harp weaves Its serenade for thee.

The star, the breeze, the wave, the trees, Their minstrelsy unite, But all are drear till thou appear To decorate the night.

The light of noon streams from the moon, Though with a milder ray O'er hill and grove, like woman's love, It cheers us on our way.

Thus all that's bright--the moon, the night, The heavens, the earth, the sea, Exert their powers to bless the hours We dedicate to thee.

Well-A-Day!