To a Lady Who Talked of Communing with the Stars When She Was Sad
WHO TALKED OF COMMUNING WITH THE STARS WHEN SHE WAS SAD .
O H tell not the stars, the gay stars, of thy sadness,
If moments there be when the feeling steals o'er thee;
They may shine like the world o'er thy moments of gladness,
And gild each bright thought with a ray of their glory,
But their beams are too cold and too far off for sorrow
To awaken a sigh from their chorus of mirth,
And the soul that in sadness would sympathy borrow
Must look for a lender much nearer the earth.
Then lavish no more on those chilly orbs yonder,
The treasures of feeling they cannot return;
Awhile on the planet from which thy thoughts wander,
There is one heart, at least, will with sympathy burn.
O H tell not the stars, the gay stars, of thy sadness,
If moments there be when the feeling steals o'er thee;
They may shine like the world o'er thy moments of gladness,
And gild each bright thought with a ray of their glory,
But their beams are too cold and too far off for sorrow
To awaken a sigh from their chorus of mirth,
And the soul that in sadness would sympathy borrow
Must look for a lender much nearer the earth.
Then lavish no more on those chilly orbs yonder,
The treasures of feeling they cannot return;
Awhile on the planet from which thy thoughts wander,
There is one heart, at least, will with sympathy burn.
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