How My Love Died [poem by Menie Parkes]

[Editor: This poem by Menie Parkes was published in Poems (1867).]

How My Love Died.

The budding of a new-born flower,
The birth-page of a holy book,
The dawn of some untainted hour,
His first, fond, loving look.

The beaming of some fair, faint star,
That draws the thought-flush to my cheek —
It was a dream too holy far
For my young lips to speak.

I hid the flower within the deep
Of my glad heart, and then, meanwhiles,
To water it soft tears did weep,
Or sunned it with my burning smiles.

I read the book in secret hours,
And cherished it with careful thought,
And oh, what mighty, magic power
Were with its wondrous lessons wrought!

I drew that hour forth from the chain —
A silver link out from the steel —
It was a treasure, that was plain,
A charm for heart-joy and soul-weal.

I gazed upon the pallid star,
Exultant that its light was pale,
That other orbs, more glorious far,
Might draw all eyes from mine to fail.

It was a dream, a sweet wild dream;
Its very thought drew deeper blushes;
It lived in every transient gleam
Of his smiles’ dim unfrequent flushes.

That dream had lasted still, I trow,
And I dwelt still in shadow-land,
And fed on visions until now,
While healthier food was at my hand,

But that, one day, I heard his name
Coupled with mine, as apt to tread
Together without blame or shame,
Because our hands and hearts were wed.

That very moment I drew back;
The bloom fell from that lovely flower,
The book some thoughts I loved did lack,
And life had blurred that happy hour.

My star to a mere star resolved,
More lovely orbs were in the sky;
My dream to shadow’s shade dissolved,
And I was now as once was I.

Yet not as once: such shadows leave
Some trace of thorn-crowns on the head,
Some embryo wrinkles on the brow
Which heavier troubles deeper tread.

Menie Parkes, Poems, F. Cunninghame, Sydney, [1867], pages 48-49

Editor’s notes:
trow = (archaic) think; believe, suppose

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