SHE was a child of gentlest air, Of deep-dark eyes, but golden hair, And, ah! I loved her unaware, Marguerite! She spelled me with those midnight eyes, The sweetness of her naive replies, And all her innocent sorceries, Marguerite! The fever of my soul grew calm Beneath her smile that healed like balm, Her words were holier than a psalm, Marguerite! But 'twixt us yawned a gulf of fate, Whose blackness I beheld, -- too late. @3O Christ! that love should smite like hate.@1 Marguerite! She did not wither to the tomb, But round her crept a tender gloom More touching than her earliest bloom, Marguerite! The sun of one fair hope had set, A hope she dared not all forget, Its twilight glory kissed her yet, -- Marguerite! And ever in the twilight fair Moves with deep eyes and golden hair The child who loved me unaware! Marguerite! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE WAY (PHILADELPHIA, 1794) by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON GRAND ARMY PLAZA by KAREN SWENSON DEJECTION by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THE DEPARTURE OF THE SWALLOW by WILLIAM HOWITT A CONSECRATION by JOHN MASEFIELD THE MAHOGANY TREE by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY THE LAST MAN: RECEPTION OF EVIL TIDINGS by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |