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352 ANNA PEYRE DINNIES. Emblem of innocence, which fearless braves Life's dreariest scenes, its rudest storm derides, And floats as calmly on o'er troubled waves As where the peaceful streamlet smoothly glides; Thou'rt blooming now as beautiful and clear As other blossoms do, when spring is here. Symbol of hope, still banishing the gloom Hung o'er the mind by stern December's reign! Thou cheer'st the fancy by thy steady bloom With thoughts of summer and the fertile plain, Calling a thousand visions into play, Of beauty redolent and bright as May. Type of a true and holy love; the same Through every scene that crowd's life's varied page, 'Mid grief, 'mid gladness, spell of every dream, Tender in youth, and strong in feeble age! The peerless picture of a modest wife, Thou bloom'st the fairest 'mid the frosts of life. THE WIFE. "She flung her white arms around him—Thou art all That this poor heart can cling to." I COULD have stemm'd misfortune's tide, And borne the rich one's sneer, Have braved the haughty glance of pride, Nor shed a single tear. I could have smiled on every blow From Life's full quiver thrown, While I might gaze on thee, and know I should not be "alone." I could—I think I could have brook'd E'en for a time, that thou ANNA PEYRE DINNIES. 353 Upon my fading face hadst look'd With less of love than now; For then I should at least have felt The sweet hope still my own, To win thee back, and, whilst I dwelt On earth, not been "alone." But thus to see, from day to day, Thy brightening eye and cheek, And watch thy life-sands waste away Unnumber'd, slowly, meek; To meet thy smiles of tenderness, And catch the feeble tone Of kindness, ever breathed to bless, And feel, I'll be "alone;" To mark thy strength each hour decay, And yet thy hopes grow stronger, As, fill'd with heavenward trust, they say, "Earth may not claim thee longer;" Nay, dearest, 'tis too much—this heart Must break when thou art gone: It must not be; we may not part; I could not live "alone!" WEDDED LOVE. COME, rouse thee, dearest!—'tis not well To let the spirit brood Thus darkly o'er the cares that swell Life's current to a flood. As brooks, and torrents, rivers, all Increase the gulf in which they fall, Such thoughts, by gathering up the rills Of lesser griefs, spread real ills, 30* X
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Reopened for Editing 2023-06-27 21:39:56
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Reopened for Editing 2023-06-29 15:22:58