THY cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe, And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush, My heart would wish away that ruder glow: And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes -- but, oh! While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush, And into mine my mother's weakness rush, Soft as the last drops round heaven's airy bow. For, through thy long dark lashes low depending, The soul of melancholy Gentleness Gleams like a seraph from the sky descending, Above all pain, yet pitying all distress; At once such majesty with sweetness blending, I worship more, but cannot love thee less. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A PECK OF GOLD by ROBERT FROST ITALIAN PICTURES: COSTA MAGIC by MINA LOY RESPECTABILITY by ROBERT BROWNING ROME. AT THE PYRAMID OF CESTIUS NEAR THE GRAVES OF SHELLEY by THOMAS HARDY THE MOWER'S SONG by ANDREW MARVELL LOVE AND SLEEP by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE LINES WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF MRS. HEMANS by MARIA ABDY |