And blush repenting through it.
Put off the fatal zone you wear;
The shining pearls around it
Are tears, that fell from Virtue there,
The hour when Love unbound it.
WRITTEN IN THE BLANK LEAF OF A LADY'S COMMONPLACE BOOK.
Here is one leaf reserved for me,
From all thy sweet memorials free;
And here my simple song might tell
The feelings thou must guess so well.
But could I thus, within thy mind,
One little vacant corner find,
Where no impression yet is seen,
Where no memorial yet hath been,
Oh! it should be my sweetest care
To _write my name_ for ever _there_!
TO MRS. BL----.
WRITTEN IN HER ALBUM.
They say that Love had once a book
(The urchin likes to copy you),
Where, all who came, the pencil took,
And wrote, like us, a line or two.
'Twas Innocence, the maid divine,
Who kept this volume bright and fair.
And saw that no unhallowed line
Or thought profane should enter there;
And daily did the pages fill
With fond device and loving lore,
And every leaf she turned was still
More bright than that she turned before.
Beneath the touch of Hope, how soft,
How light the magic pencil ran!
Till Fear would come, alas, as oft,
And trembling close what Hope began.
A tear or two had dropt from Grief,
And Jealousy would, now and then,
Ruffle in haste some snow-white leaf,
Which Love had still to smooth again.
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