Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MINE OWN, by DAVID MACBETH MOIR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MINE OWN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: I need not token-flowers to tell
Last Line: Until we meet again!
Alternate Author Name(s): Delta
Subject(s): Absence; Love; Separation; Isolation


I.

I NEED not token-flowers to tell
How deeply dear thou art,
Still on mine ear thine accents dwell,
Thy virtues in my heart;
Thy beauty floats before mine eyes
In soft celestial light,
Alike at orient day's uprise,
And pensive shut of night.

II.

Although afar—although afar—
Yet art thou with me still,
When evening's star, and morning's star,
Gleams o'er the twilight hill;
Thy beauty streams through all my dreams,
The lone night-watches through;
And cloudless skies recall thine eyes,
The archangel's tearless blue.

III.

The sinking and the swelling heart
Of fond yet fearful love,
The bliss to meet, the pain to part,
It hath been ours to prove;
The deep embrace of blessedness,
By absence made more blest;
And separation's pangs, which press
Its life-blood from the breast.

IV.

Memorials of that vanished day
Of mingled bliss and woe,
When from yon garden bowers away
Time forced my steps to go;
I prize each withered bloom and stalk,
For that dear hand of thine,
Which plucked them on our parting walk,
And gifted them to mine.

V.

I see thee in thy beauty yet
Upon the gravel stand,
The glowing tints, red, blue, and jet,
Fresh blooming in thy hand:
And lo! all withered, wan, and dried,
Before me here they lie,
To tell that since I left thy side
Long months have lingered by.

VI.

But think not months, however long,
(For long all months must be,
Theme of my blessing and my song!
Which sever me from thee,)
Shall e'er undo one tender tie
Affection's fingers wove,
Shall make less deep the daily sigh
Which Absence owes to Love!

VII.

'Twas Autumn,—and the redbreast lulled
With song the fading bowers,
When for my hand thy fingers culled
These wan and withered flowers:
Fresh were they then; but, as I gaze
The shrivelled blossoms o'er,
The mountain-peaks are grey with haze,
And gleams the snowy moor.

VIII.

The clouds of doubt between us rolled,
In shadows passed the day,
But, like a star, thy love consoled
My spirit with its ray;
For through the tempest and the night
That beam was duly shed,
To cherish with its steadfast light
The hope which else had fled.

IX.

O hallowed, Heavenly to my view
Is every gentle scene,
Where thy fair foot hath brushed the dew
From off the daisied green!
Thy love, thy loveliness, thy worth,
To me seem blessings given,
To show my soul how things of earth
Can raise its thoughts to Heaven!

X.

Farewell! thou shalt not be forgot,
My beautiful, MINE OWN!
O may the sorrows of our lot
Bow down my head alone!
And these dried flowers, which, given to me,
Were moist with morning rain,
Shall bloom of thee, and breathe of thee,
Until we meet again!





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