Classic Poem

WHILE I UPON THY BOSOM LEAN .

I.

While I upon thy bosom lean,
And gaze into thine eyes,
I turn from sorrows that have been,
To those which yet may rise: —
I think on thy untiring truth,
And faster flow my tears;
I mark thy waning rose of youth,
And cannot hide my fears.

II.

Oh! light have been the pangs we 've proved,
To what may yet remain;
We 've suffered much — but fondly loved; —
Parted — but met again!
Still, something speaks a wilder doom
From which we ne'er may flee;
Well — dearest — let the thunder come,
So that it spares me thee!

III.

Even while I clasp thee to my soul,
And feel thou it only mine,
The bodings I can not controul
My lip breathes out on thine:
Thy drooping lid — and pallid brow —
The frequent gathering tear, —
With voiceless eloquence, avow
That I have much to fear.

IV.

And when to this I add the thought
Of parting soon again,
The future, as the past, seems fraught
With undivided pain; —
But no! I will not dwell upon
Such dreams while blest with thee;
This hour is bright and all our own,
Whate'er the next may be!