Poem – I saw thy Form in Youthful Prime

I saw thy form in youthful prime,

 Nor thought that pale decay 

Would steal before the steps of Time, 

And waste its bloom away, Mary! 

Yet still thy features wore that light, 

Which fleets not with the breath; 

And life ne’er look’d more truly bright 

Than in thy smile of death, Mary! 
As streams that run o’er golden mines, 

Yet humbly, calmly glide, 

Nor seem to know the wealth that shines 

Within their gentle tide, Mary! 

So veil’d beneath the simplest guise, 

Thy radiant genius shone, 

And that which charm’d all other eyes 

Seem’d worthless in thy own, Mary! 
If souls could always dwell above, 

Thou ne’er hadst left that sphere; 

Or could we keep the souls we love, 

We ne’er had lost thee here, Mary! 

Though many a gifted mind we meet, 

Though fairest forms we see, 

To live with them is far less sweet 

Than to remember thee, Mary! 

Poem – I saw from the Beach 

I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining,

 A bark o’er the waters move gloriously on; 

I came when the sun o’er that beach was declining, 

The bark was still there, but the waters were gone. 
And such is the fate of our life’s early promise, 

So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known; 

Each wave that we danced on at morning ebbs from us, 

And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone. 
Oh, who would not welcome that moment’s returning 

When passion first waked a new life through his frame, 

And his soul, like the wood that grows precious in burning, 

Gave out all its sweets to love’s exquisite flame. 

Poem – Her Picture

Go then, if she, whose shade thou art,

No more will let thee soothe my pain;

Yet, tell her, it has cost this heart

Some pangs, to give thee back again.
Tell her, the smile was not so dear,

With which she made the semblance mine,

As bitter is the burning tear,

With which I now the gift resign.
Yet go — and could she still restore,

As some exchange for taking thee.

The tranquil look which first I wore,

When her eyes found me calm and free;
Could she give back the careless flow,

The spirit that my heart then knew —

Yet, no, ’tis vain — go, picture, go —

Smile at me once, and then — adieu!