Phœbe Cary

“ And while the lightly-heaving tides
Are scarcely rippled by the breeze—
Thou, who, with cheek of beauty pale,
Seem’st o’er some hidden grief to pine,
If thou wilt listen to a tale
Of sorrow, it may lighten thine. ”

“ That night I drank a draught more sweet
Than water from the living rills.
It is a harder task to win
The feet at first, from right astray;
Yet if but once we yield to sin,
How easy is the downward way! ”

“ No thought within her bosom stirs
But wakes some feeling dark and dread:
God keep thee from a doom like hers—
Of living when the hopes are dead! ”