Classic and Contemporary Poetry
A GIRL AT HER DEVOTIONS, BY NEWTON, by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: She was just risen from her bended knee Last Line: On feelings which that picture may not tell. Alternate Author Name(s): L. E. L.; Maclean, Letitia Subject(s): Paintings & Painters; Prayer | ||||||||
SHE was just risen from her bended knee, But yet peace seem'd not with her piety; For there was paleness upon her young cheek, And thoughts upon the lips which never speak, But wring the heart that at the last they break. Alas! how much of misery may be read In that wan forehead, and that bow'd-down head! -- Her eye is on a picture: woe that ever Love should thus struggle with a vain endeavour Against itself: it is a common tale, And ever will be while earth's ills prevail Over earth's happiness; it tells she strove With silent, secret, unrequited love. It matters not its history; love has wings Like lightning, swift and fatal, and it springs Like a wild flower where it is least expected, Existing whether cherish'd or rejected; Living with only but to be content, Hopeless, for love is its own element, -- Requiring nothing so that it may be The martyr of its fond fidelity. A mystery art thou, thou mighty one! We speak thy name in beauty, yet we shun To own thee, Love, a guest; the poet's songs Are sweetest when their voice to thee belongs, And hope, sweet opiate, tenderness, delight, Are terms which are thy own peculiar right; Yet all deny their master, -- who will own His breast thy footstool, and his heart thy throne? 'Tis strange to think, if we could fling aside The mask and mantle that love wears from pride, How much would be, we now so little guess, Deep in each heart's undream'd, unsought recess. The careless smile, like a gay banner borne, The laugh of merriment, the lip of scorn, -- And, for a cloak, what is there that can be So difficult to pierce as gaiety? Too dazzling to be scann'd, the haughty brow Seems to hide something it would not avow; But rainbow words, light laugh, and thoughtless jest, These are the bars, the curtain to the breast, That shuns a scrutiny: and she, whose form Now bends in grief beneath the bosom's storm, Has hidden well her wound, -- now none are nigh To mock with curious or with careless eye, (For love seeks sympathy; a chilling yes, Strikes at the root of its best happiness, And mockery is wormwood,) she may dwell On feelings which that picture may not tell. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UNHOLY SONNET 11 by MARK JARMAN LISTEN, LORD: A PRAYER by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON A PRAYER FOR THE FUTURE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) DIFFERENT WAYS TO PRAY by NAOMI SHIHAB NYE PRAYER DURING A TIME MY SON IS HAVING SEIZURES by SHARON OLDS WE WHO PRAYED AND WEPT by WENDELL BERRY PRAYERS AND SAYINGS OF THE MAD FARMER by WENDELL BERRY CALYPSO WATCHING THE OCEAN by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON |
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