"
SHE SUNG OF LOVE.
She sung of Love, while o'er her lyre
The rosy rays of evening fell,
As if to feed with their soft fire
The soul within that trembling shell.
The same rich light hung o'er her cheek,
And played around those lips that sung
And spoke, as flowers would sing and speak,
If Love could lend their leaves a tongue.
But soon the West no longer burned,
Each rosy ray from heaven withdrew;
And, when to gaze again I turned,
The minstrel's form seemed fading too.
As if _her_ light and heaven's were one,
The glory all had left that frame;
And from her glimmering lips the tone,
As from a parting spirit, came.
Who ever loved, but had the thought
That he and all he loved must part?
Filled with this fear, I flew and caught
The fading image to my heart--
And cried, "Oh Love! is this thy doom?
"Oh light of youth's resplendent day!
"Must ye then lose your golden bloom,
"And thus, like sunshine, die away?"
SING--SING--MUSIC WAS GIVEN.
Sing--sing--Music was given,
To brighten the gay, and kindle the loving;
Souls here, like planets in Heaven,
By harmony's laws alone are kept moving.
Beauty may boast of her eyes and her cheeks,
But Love from the lips his true archery wings;
And she, who but feathers the dart when she speaks,
At once sends it home to the heart when she sings.
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