Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HEARTS, by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

HEARTS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: A trinket made like a heart, dear
Last Line: Over all the buried past!
Alternate Author Name(s): Berwick, Mary
Subject(s): Death; Farewell; Hearts; Life; Love; Dead, The; Parting


I.

A TRINKET made like a Heart, dear,
Of red gold, bright and fine,
Was given to me for a keepsake,
Given to me for mine.

And another heart, warm and tender,
As true as a heart could be;
And every throb that stirred it
Was always and all for me.

Sailing over the waters,
Watching the far blue land,
I dropped my golden heart, dear,
Dropt it out of my hand!

It lies in the cold, blue waters,
Fathoms and fathoms deep,
The golden heart which I promised
Promised to prize and keep.

Gazing at Life's bright visions,
So false, and fair, and new,
I forgot the other heart, dear,
Forgot it and lost it too!

I might seek that heart forever,
I might seek and seek in vain; --
And for one short, careless hour,
I pay with a life of pain.

II.

THE Heart? -- Yes, I wore it
As sign and as token
Of a love that once gave it,
A vow that was spoken;
But a love, and a vow, and a heart
Can be broken.

The Love? -- Life and Death
Are crushed into a day,
So what wonder that Love
Should as soon pass away, --
What wonder I saw it
Fade, fail, and decay?

The Vow? -- why what was it?
It snapped like a thread;
Who cares for the corpse
When the spirit is fled?
Then I said, "Let the Dead rise
And bury its dead,

"While the true, living future
Grows pure, wise, and strong."
So I cast the gold heart
I had worn for so long
In the Lake, and bound on it
A Stone -- and a Wrong!

III.

Look, this little golden Heart
Was a true-love shrine
For a tress of hair; I held them,
Heart and tress, as mine,
Like the Love which gave the token: --
See, to-day the Heart is broken!
Broken is the golden heart,
Lost the tress of hair;
Ah, the shrine is empty, vacant,
Desolate and bare!
So the token should depart,
When Love dies within the heart.

Fast and deep the river floweth,
Floweth to the west;
I will cast the golden trinket
In its cold dark breast: --
Flow, O river, deep and fast,
Over all the buried past!





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