A sweet geranium once, in pride of place
'Mongst rare exotics in a Palace lived;
With watchful care from tender hands it thrived,
Standing in lofty sphere with odorous grace.
The smiling Sun, each morning making call,
Such tender looks and such sweet kisses gave,
That in a little time, true as I live,
He to the tender flow'r was all in all.
But true love's course, 'tis said, ne'er smooth did run:
The pretty flower was sent, now here, now there,
Until at length she found more humble sphere,
Far, far removed from kisses of the sun.
Here, with dejected look, she pined anew,
Placed in the lattice of a lowly cot,
In pent-up alley, fever-fraught and hot,
And wore from day to day a sicklier hue.
No blessed sunlight flusht her dainty cheek,
No cooling breeze refreshed her pallid brow,
Droopful she stood--methinks I see her now,
Nursing the grief of which she might not speak.
A blinding wall shut out her darling sun,
Tow'rds which, with prayerful arm, she hourly reached
In mute appeal; and lovingly beseeched,
As 'twere, to gaze upon the worshipped one.
No soul e'er panted its dear love to see
With dreams more tender than the dying plant--
Hoping and yearning, with a hungering want,
Sun-ward in all her heart's idolatry.
But Ah! the fickle sun, from flow'r to flow'r,
In lusty love did revel all the day,
Nor thought of her, now dying far away,
Whom he had kissed through many a rosy hour.
In dead of night, when great hearts die, the storm
Swept down the barrier that blocked out the light,
And in the morn, refreshing, pure, and bright,
The sun came leaping in, so soft and warm.
But sunshine came too late. The blossom brave,
While yearning for dear light and warmth, had died.
As men will sometimes die waiting the tide
That flows at length to eddy round--a grave.
"RING DOWN THE CURTAIN."
"Ring down the Curtain" were the last dying words of a young and
beautiful American actress, who died of consumption when in the zenith
of her popularity.
Ring down the curtain;
So ends the play!
Night-time is coming;
Past is the day.
Sang I in sadness
Adorned with a smile;
Pourtraying gladness
And dying the while!
How my brow burneth--
With fever oppressed:
How my heart yearneth
For silence and rest.
Soothe me to slumber:
Why should ye sigh?
Ring down the curtain;
'Tis pleasant to die!
Ring down the curtain:
Critics depart!
The end of your blaming--
A wearisome heart:
Fame which your praise brought--
A Summer-day cloud:
Fruit of my toiling--
A coffin and shroud!
Light though, and fitful,
The dreams of my life,
My soul like a vessel
From ocean of strife
Calmly and peaceful
To her haven doth fly:
Ring down the curtain--
'Tis pleasant to die!