Saturday, January 15, 2005

William Lisle Bowles

1 comment:

  1. O TIME! who know'st a lenient hand to lay
    Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence
    (Lulling to sad repose the weary sense)
    The faint pang stealest unperceived away;
    On thee I rest my only hope at last,
    And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear
    That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear,
    I may look back on every sorrow past,
    And meet life's peaceful evening with a smile:
    As some lone bird, at day's departing hour,
    Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient shower
    Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while:--
    Yet ah! how much must this poor heart endure,
    Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure!

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