Eliza Cook
HE crawls to the cliff and plays on a brink Where every eye but his own would shrink; No music he hears but the billow’s noise, And shells and weeds are his only toys.
THE ORB I like is not the one That dazzles with its lightning gleam; That dares to look upon the sun, As though it challenged brighter beam. That orb may sparkle, flash, and roll;
I LOVE it, I love it ; and who shall dare To chide me for loving that old Arm-chair? I’ve treasured it long as a sainted prize ; I’ve bedewed it with tears, and
THE worm, the rich worm, has a noble domain In the field that is stored with its millions of slain ; The charnel-grounds widen, to me they belong, With the vaults of the sepulchre,
THREE summers have gone since the first time we met, love, And still ’tis in vain that I ask thee to wed ; I hear no reply but a gentle ” Not yet, love,”