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To Isabel.
by George W. SandsCome near me with thy lips, and, breathe o'er mine
Their breath, for I consume with love's desire, -
Thine ivory arms about me clasp and twine,
And beam upon mine eye thine eye's soft fire;
Clasp me yet closer, till my heart feels thine
Thrill, as the chords of Memnon's mystic lyre
Thrilled at the sun's uprising! thou who art
The lone, the worshipped idol of my heart!
There! balmier than the south wind, when it brings
The scent of aromatic shrub and tree,
And tropic flower on ifs glowing wings,
Thine odorous breath is wafted over me;
How to thy dewy lips mine own lip clings,
And my whole being is absorbed in thee;
And in my breast thine eyes have lit a fire
That never, never, never shall expire!
Eternal - is it not eternal - this
Our passionate love? what pow'r shall part us twain?
Not even Death! Life could bestow no bliss
Like death with thee, and I would rend its chain
If thou shouldst perish, for my heaven is
To gaze upon thee! I could bear all pain
Unsighing, so not parted from thy side,
My beautiful! my spirit's chosen bride!
They try to woo me from thy fond embrace,
To lure me from the light of those dear eyes;
They tell me that in fortune's arduous chase,
I have such fleetness as would win the prize; -
But all the pomps of circumstance and place,
A glance, a word, a smile of thine outvies!
Leave Fortune to her parasites! mine be
The blessed lot to dwell with love and thee.
To lead thee on through life, and to enlarge
Thy soul with added knowledge, day by day,
To guard thee, as an angel guards his charge,
From every ill that lurks along the way!
To smooth that rugged way, and strew its marge
With the bright flowrs that never can decay, -
This were a lot too glorious, too divine,
And yet Hope whispers that it shall be mine.
Now listen, love, - this plan shall rule my life
And thine: - In some remote and sunny dell,
Far from the crowded city's silly strife,
My hands shall rear the home where we will dwell;
Shall till the soil, with fertile fruitage rife,
And teach the golden ear to shoot and swell;
And my sole wished for recompense shall be
My ever growing, deep'ning love for thee.
Thy task shall be to train the trailing vine,
To watch, and cherish in its growth, the flow'r
Whose breath and cheek are sweet and fair as thine;
To bless and brighten the domestic bow'r
Where we will build to Love a hallowed shrine,
And bow us, in his worship, every hour;
Till, chastened by thy smile, my heart has grown
As pure, and soft, and sinless as thine own.
Oh, hasten, love! to realize the dream, -
Come from the world, - the crowd is not for thee;
Forsake it then, ere the contagious steam
Of its foul breath has soiled thy purity; -
Come, for my heart would burst could I but deem
That such as they are, thou couldst ever be!
Come, for my soul adores thee with a love
As burning as the seraphs feel above.