Poems by George Pope Morris
page 98 of 342 (28%)
page 98 of 342 (28%)
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Thou art the start that guides me
Along life's troubled sea; And whatever fate betides me, This heart still turns to thee. Silent Grief. Where is now my peace of mind? Gone, alas! for evermore: Turn where'er I may, I find Thorns where roses bloomed before! O'er the green-fields of my soul, Where the springs of joy were found, Now the clouds of sorrow roll, Shading all the prospect round! Do I merit pangs like these, That have cleft my heart in twain? Must I, to the very lees, Drain thy bitter chalice, Pain? Silent grief all grief excels; Life and it together part-- Like a restless worm it dwells |
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