Poetry Archives

As by the fix’d decrees of Heaven,
’Tis vain to hope that Joy can last;
The dearest boon that Life has given,
To me is—visions of the past.

For these this toy of blushing hue
  I prize with zeal before unknown,
It tells me of a Friend I knew,
  Who loved me for myself alone.

It tells me what how few can say
  Though all the social tie commend;
Recorded in my heart ’twill lay,
  It tells me mine was once a Friend.

Through many a weary day gone by,
  With time the gift is dearer grown;
And still I view in Memory’s eye
  That teardrop sparkle through my own.

And heartless Age perhaps will smile,
  Or wonder whence those feelings sprung;
Yet let not sterner souls revile,
  For Both were open, Both were young.

And Youth is sure the only time,
  When Pleasure blends no base alloy;
When Life is blest without a crime,
  And Innocence resides with Joy.

Let those reprove my feeble Soul,
  Who laugh to scorn Affection’s name;
While these impose a harsh controul,
  All will forgive who feel the same.

Then still I wear my simple toy,
  With pious care from wreck I’ll save it;
And this will form a dear employ
  For dear I was to him who gave it.