Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SONG OF THE DYING OLD MAN TO HIS YOUNG WIFE, by ELIZA COOK


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SONG OF THE DYING OLD MAN TO HIS YOUNG WIFE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Kate, there's a trembling at my heart, a coldness at my brow
Last Line: I die within thy arms, my kate, and feel no sting of death.
Subject(s): Death; Love - Age Differences; Love - Marital; Dead, The; Wedded Love; Marriage - Love


Kate, there's a trembling at my heart, a coldness at my brow,
My sight is dim, my breath is faint, I feel I'm dying now;
But ere my vision fadeth quite, ere all of strength be o'er,
Oh! let me look into thy face, and press thy hand once more.

I would my latest glance should fall on what I hold most dear;
But, ah! thy cheek is wet again -- wipe, wipe away the tear.
Such tears of late have often gemmed thy drooping eyelid's fringe,
Such tears of late have washed away thy young cheek's ruddy tinge.

I brought thee from a simple home to be an old man's bride,
Thou wert the altar where I laid affection, joy and pride;
My heart's devotion, like the sun, shone forth with dimless power,
And kept its brightest glory rays to mark its setting hour.

I brought thee from a simple home, when early friends had met,
And something filled thy farewell tone that whis. pered of regret.
Oh! could I wonder, when you left warm spirits like your own,
To dwell upon far distant earth with age and wealth alone?

I gazed with holy fondness on thy meek retiring eye,
Soft in its beaming as the first fair star of evening's sky;
I marked the dimpled mirth around thy sweet lips when they smiled,
And while I loved thee as a bride, I blest thee as a child.

But, oh! thy young and glowing heart could not respond to mine,
My whitened hairs seemed mocked by those rich sunny curls of thine;
And though thy gentle faith was kind as woman's faith can be,
'Twas as the spring flower clinging round the winter-blighted tree.

My speech is faltering and low -- the world is fading fast --
The sands of life are few and slow -- this day will be my last:
I've something for thine ear -- bend close -- list to my failing word,
Lay what I utter to my soul, and start not when 'tis heard.

There's one who loves thee -- though his love has never
lived in speech --
He worships as a devotee the star he cannot reach;
He strives to mask his throbbing breast and hide its burning glow;
But I have pierced the veil and seen the struggling heart below.

Nay, speak not; I alone have been the selfish and unwise;
Young hearts will nestle with young hearts, young eyes will
meet young eyes.
And when I saw his earnest glance turned hopelessly away,
I thanked the hand of Time that gave me warning of decay.

I question not thy bosom, Kate -- I cast upon thy name
No memory of jealous fear, no slightest shade of blame.
I know that he has loved thee long, with deep and secret truth;
I know he is a fitting one to bless thy trusting youth.

Weep not for me with bitter grief; I would but have thee tell
That he who bribed thee to his heart has cherished thee right well.
I give thee to another, Kate -- and may that other prove
As grateful for the blessing held, as doting in his love.

Bury me in the churchyard where the dark yew branches wave,
And promise thou wilt come sometimes to weed the old man's grave;
'Tis all I ask! I'm blind -- I'm faint -- take, take my
parting breath --
I die within thy arms, my Kate, and feel no sting of death.





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