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To Mrs. Dulaney Post by :gjdepol71 Category :Poems Author :Fanny Kemble Date :November 2011 Read :2228

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To Mrs. Dulaney

What was thine errand here?
Thy beauty was more exquisite than aught
That from this marred earth
Takes its imperfect birth;
It was a radiant, heavenly beauty, caught
From some far higher sphere,
And though an angel now, thou still must bear
The lovely semblance that thou here didst wear.

What was thine errand here?
Thy gentle thoughts, and holy, humble mind,
With earthly creatures coarse,
Held not discourse,
But with fine spirits, of some purer kind,
Dwelt in communion dear;
And sure they speak to thee that language now,
Which thou wert wont to speak to us below.

What was thine errand here?
To adorn anguish, and ennoble death,
And make infirmity
A patient victory,
And crown life's baseness with a glorious wreath,
That fades not on thy bier,
But fits, immortal soul! thy triumph still,
In that bright world where thou art gone to dwell.

(The end)
Fanny Kemble's poem: To Mrs. Dulaney

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Impromptu, Written Among The Ruins Of The Sonnenberg Impromptu, Written Among The Ruins Of The Sonnenberg

Impromptu, Written Among The Ruins Of The Sonnenberg
Thou who within thyself dost not beholdRuins as great as these, though not as old,Can'st scarce through life have travelled many a year,Or lack'st the spirit of a pilgrim here.Youth hath its walls of strength, its towers of pride;Love, its warm hearth-stones; Hope, its prospects wide;Life's fortress in thee, held these one, and all,And they have fallen to ruin, or shall fall.(The end)Fanny Kemble's poem: Impromptu, Written Among The Ruins Of The Sonnenberg

Song (pass Thy Hand Through My Hair, Lore;) Song (pass Thy Hand Through My Hair, Lore;)

Song (pass Thy Hand Through My Hair, Lore;)
Pass thy hand through my hair, lore; One little year ago, In a curtain bright and rare, love, It fell golden o'er my brow. But the gold has passed away, love, And the drooping curls are thin, And cold threads of wintry gray, love, Glitter their folds within:How should this be, in one short year?It is not age--can it be care? Fasten thine eyes on mine, love; One