Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Langdon ElwynMitchell1477 Songs
T
Although it music’s self might be;
Lest in my breast a crystal sphere
Might burst, might break for melody.
Tho’ like the springtime it were fair;
Lest love that was a barren tree
Should burst in bloom—should blossoms bear.
H
The rose exhales,
Whenas her bloom is o’er!
Altho’ her petals on the evening gales
Are wafted by, a fleet of fairy sails,
She is, alas! no more.
And fills the air
With many a deep drawn sigh:
Shall I not both embalm with sacred care,
That they may have, in sweetly-breathëd air,
Their immortality!