Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Blind Girl's Lament
The Blind Girl's Lament.
It is not that I cannot see
The birds and flowers of spring;
'Tis not that beauty seems to me
A dreamy, unknown thing;—
The birds and flowers of spring;
'Tis not that beauty seems to me
A dreamy, unknown thing;—
It is not that I cannot mark
The blue and star-set sky;
Nor ocean's foam, nor mountain's peak—
That thus I weep and sigh.
The blue and star-set sky;
Nor ocean's foam, nor mountain's peak—
That thus I weep and sigh.
They tell me that the birds, whose notes
Fall full upon mine ear,
Are not all beautiful to sight,
Though sweet their songs to hear.
Fall full upon mine ear,
Are not all beautiful to sight,
Though sweet their songs to hear.
They tell me that the gayest flowers
Which sunshine ever brings,
Are not the ones I know so well,
But strange and scentless things.
Which sunshine ever brings,
Are not the ones I know so well,
But strange and scentless things.
My little brother leads me forth
To where the violets grow;
Hus gentle, light, yet careful step
And tiny hand I know.
To where the violets grow;
Hus gentle, light, yet careful step
And tiny hand I know.
My mother's voice is soft and sweet,
Like music on my ear;
The very atmosphere seems love
When these to me are near.
Like music on my ear;
The very atmosphere seems love
When these to me are near.
My father twines his arms around,
And draws me to his breast,
To kiss the poor, blind, helpless girl
He says he loves the best.
And draws me to his breast,
To kiss the poor, blind, helpless girl
He says he loves the best.
'Tis then I ponder unknown things—
It may be, weep or sigh—
And think how glorious it must be
To meet affection's eye.
It may be, weep or sigh—
And think how glorious it must be
To meet affection's eye.