Читать книгу Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXII No. 4, April 1848 - Various - Страница 4

"Thou hast a heart," my spirit said;

"Seek out a kindred one, and wed:

So passes grief, comes joy instead."

"True, Soul, I have," I quick replied;

"But in this weary world and wide

That other hath my search defied."

"Poet, thou hast an eye to see;

Thou knowest all things as they be;

The spheres are open books to thee.

"Thou art a missioned creature, sent

To preach of beauty – teach content:

In life's Sahara pitch thy tent!

"It is not good to be alone —

Not fit for any living one —

There's nothing single save the sun.

"Beasts, fishes, birds – yea, atoms mate,

Acknowledging an ordered fate:

What dost thou in a single state?"

"O, Soul!" I bitterly replied,

For I was full of haughty pride,

"Would in my birth that I had died!

"I feel what thou hast said is truth;

But I am past the bloom of youth,

And Beauty's eye has lost its ruth.

"I languish for some gentle heart

To throb with mine, devoid of art,

Perfect and pure in every part —

"Some innocent heart whose pulse's tone

Should beat in echo of mine own,

Where I might reign and reign alone."

"All this, and more, thy love might win,"

My spirit urged, "poor Child of Sin,

That sickenest in this rude world's din.

"Love is a way-side plant: go forth

And pluck – love has no thorns for worth —

The blossom from its place of birth.

"Perchance, on thee may Beauty's queen,

And Fortune's, look, with smiling mien —

With eyes, whose lids hold love between."

"Spirit, I am of little worth,"

Said I – "an erring child of earth:

Yet fain would own a happy hearth.

"Mere beauty, though it drowns my soul

With sunshine, may not be my goal;

And love despises gold's control.

"Better the riches of the mind —

A spirit toward the spheres inclined —

A heart that veers not with the wind.

"She might be beautiful, and gold

Might clasp her in its ruddy fold —

Have lands and tenements to hold:

"She might be poor – it were the same

If lofty, or of lowly name,

If famous, or unknown to fame:

"But she must feel the brotherhood

I feel for man – the love of good; —

Life is at best an interlude,

"And we must act our parts so here,

That, when we reach a loftier sphere,

Our memories shall not shed a tear.

"With such a one, if fair or brown —

Gracing a cottage, or a throne —

Soul, I could live and love unknown!

"Yes, gazing upward in her eye,

Scan what was passing in its sky,

And swoon, and dream, and, dreaming, die."

"There is none such," my spirit sighed.

"Seek glory: woo her for thy bride.

And perish, and be deified!"

"Why, Soul," I said, "the thought of fame,

Of winning an exalted name,

Might woo me, but my heart would blame

"The coldness that compelled me forth.

No: somewhere on this lower earth

The angel that I seek has birth.

"If not, I will so worship here

Her type, that I shall joy, not fear—

To meet her in her holier sphere."