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Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton - The Ringlet
Work rating: Low

OH! treasured thus by passion`s slave, 
Dear relic of the bygone year; 
Say, what remains of her who gave? 
The vain regret--the useless tear. 
The clasping hands--the throbbing brow-- 
The murmuring of that shadowy word, 
To which had answered once--oh! now, 
Why is that light quick step unheard? 

What in those syllables is found, 
That such a start of woe can claim? 
A word is but an empty sound,-- 
Alas! it is--it was--her name! 
It was--yes, she was once! as gay, 
As full of life, as aught that lives; 
The breath--the life--hath passed away, 
But not the pang her memory gives. 

Bright tress! thy beauty bringeth now 
A thousand dreams of rapture gone; 
Her sunny eyes, her radiant brow, 
The low, light laughter of her tone. 
Gazing on thee, again she stands 
Before me, as in days of old; 
With all her young head`s shining bands, 
And all its wavy curls of gold. 

Till as I view thee, silken tress, 
I feel within my suffering heart,-- 
`Tis all which now my sight can bless, 
All that of her will not depart. 
Oh! thou that wert life`s dearest prize, 
That now art but a thought of pain; 
Why do thy tones--thy laughing eyes-- 
Rise up to wring my soul again? 

I roam in vain:--the sun that beams 
Is still the sun we looked upon; 
My hand, my lonely hand, in dreams, 
Seeks still for thine to clasp its own. 
My heart resists all time--all change, 
And finds no other form so dear. 
My memory, wheresoe`er I range, 
Clings to the spot where thou wert near. 

Change!--thou wert all life`s scenery: 
To me, the billowy, bounding wave-- 
The wide green earth--the far blue sky, 
Form but the landscape of thy grave! 

Oh! bitter is their boon of life 
Who cannot hope--who may not die-- 
I linger in a world of strife, 
Whilst thou art in the happy sky! 
I envy thee the peace thou hast, 
And, but `tis sin, the knee would bow, 
That He who made thee all thou wast, 
Would make me all--that thou art now!
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