Poems / Mary E. Tucker [electronic text]

THE BLIGHT OF LOVE.

MANY long years ago, I loved a youth, Who seemed the soul of honor and of truth — He charmed my heart with some unholy spell, He was a serpent, whom I loved so well.

The blush of girlhood had just ting'd my cheek; He knew me young — perchance he thought me weak. 'Tis said, he often boasted of his power, To gather for his own each new-blown flower.

My simple language can not well describe How first he stood before me in his pride; His form was cast in beauty's manly mould; His eyes shot fire, and his hair was gold.

Fain, fain would I describe to you his glance; One look enough, to throw me in a trance; His flute-like voice — ah! from my sleep I woke, When on mine ear the cadence gently broke.

A month passed by: he lingered by my side, Longed for the time, when I should be his bride; Ah! bitter ending, of that month of years, A life of sorrow, and a life of tears.

The scathing truth, like any lightning stroke, Fell'd me to earth, and my poor heart was broke; He, frightened, turned and left me, with my woe, For, in my wrath, I sternly bade him go.

I've never loved again; for there, and then, All my faith vanished in the truth of men. Of that short month, 'tis seldom that I speak, And to forget my youth, in vain I seek.