George Pope Morris

1802-1864 / USA

To The Evening Star.

The woods waved welcome in the breeze,
When, many years ago,
Lured by the songs of birds and bees,
I sought the dell below;
And there, in that secluded spot,
Where silver streamlets roved,
Twined the green ivy round the cot
Of her I fondly loved.

In dreams still near that porch I stand
To listen to her vow!
Still feel the pressure of her hand
Upon my burning brow!
And here, as in the days gone by,
With joy I meet her yet,
And mark the love-light of her eyes,
Fringed with its lash of jet.

O fleeting vision of the past!
From memory glide away!
Ye were too beautiful to last,
Too good to longer stay!
But why, attesting evening star,
This sermon sad recall:
'THAN LOVE AND LOSE 'TIS BETTER FAR
TO NEVER LOVE AT ALL!'
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