TO A FRIEND.If ever, lady, any word of mine,Spoken in sorrow, came to thy own heartWith any sense of comfort or of peace,My sorrow that before was half divineBecomes a joy! and I would never partWith its remembrance. Why should sorrow ceaseThat makes one happy? I would rather twineRoses than cypress round a grief so dear;And I could set as in an emerald shrineThat sadness in my soul for evermore.How gladly would I live that evening o’erThinking of thee! Not vain, amid the scenesOf that proud park, my mood was, from the shoreWatching the slow state of those ermined queens.
TO A FRIEND.If ever, lady, any word of mine,Spoken in sorrow, came to thy own heartWith any sense of comfort or of peace,My sorrow that before was half divineBecomes a joy! and I would never partWith its remembrance. Why should sorrow ceaseThat makes one happy? I would rather twineRoses than cypress round a grief so dear;And I could set as in an emerald shrineThat sadness in my soul for evermore.How gladly would I live that evening o’erThinking of thee! Not vain, amid the scenesOf that proud park, my mood was, from the shoreWatching the slow state of those ermined queens.
If ever, lady, any word of mine,Spoken in sorrow, came to thy own heartWith any sense of comfort or of peace,My sorrow that before was half divineBecomes a joy! and I would never partWith its remembrance. Why should sorrow ceaseThat makes one happy? I would rather twineRoses than cypress round a grief so dear;And I could set as in an emerald shrineThat sadness in my soul for evermore.How gladly would I live that evening o’erThinking of thee! Not vain, amid the scenesOf that proud park, my mood was, from the shoreWatching the slow state of those ermined queens.
If ever, lady, any word of mine,Spoken in sorrow, came to thy own heartWith any sense of comfort or of peace,My sorrow that before was half divineBecomes a joy! and I would never partWith its remembrance. Why should sorrow ceaseThat makes one happy? I would rather twineRoses than cypress round a grief so dear;And I could set as in an emerald shrineThat sadness in my soul for evermore.How gladly would I live that evening o’erThinking of thee! Not vain, amid the scenesOf that proud park, my mood was, from the shoreWatching the slow state of those ermined queens.