Oh, raise those eyes to me again,
And smile again so joyously;
And fear not, love; it was not pain
Nor grief that drew those tears from me.
Beloved child! thou canst not tell
The thoughts that in my bosom swell
Whene'er I look on thee!
Thou knowest not that a glance of thine
Can bring back long-departed years,
And that thy blue eyes' magic shine
Can overflow my own with tears,
And that each feature, soft and fair,
And every curl of thy golden hair,
Some sweet remembrance bears.
Just then thou didst recall to me
A distant, long-forgotten scene;
One smile, and one sweet word from thee
Dispelled the years that rolled between:
I was a little child again,
And every after joy and pain
Seemed never to have been.
Tall forest trees waved over me
To hide me from the heat of day,
And by my side a child like thee
Among the summer flowerets lay.
He was thy own, thou merry child:
Like thee he spoke, like thee he smiled,
Like thee he used to play.
Oh! those were calm and happy days;
We loved each other fondly then;
But human love too soon decays,
And ours can never bloom again.
I never thought to see the day
When Florian's friendship would decay
Like that of colder men.
Now, Flora, thou hast but begun
To sail on life's deceitful sea;
Oh! do not err as I have done,
For I have trusted foolishly
The faith of every friend I loved:
I never doubted till I proved
Their heart's inconstancy.
'Tis mournful to look back upon
Those long departed joys and cares,
And I will weep since thou alone
Art witness to my streaming tears.
This lingering love will not depart:
I cannot banish from my heart
The friend of childhood's years.
But, though thy father loves me not,
Yet shall I still be loved by thee;
And, though I am by him forgot,
Say, wilt not thou remember me?
I will not cause thy heart to ache;
For thy regretted father's sake
I'll love and cherish thee.
Alexandrina Zenobia.
Anne Brontë, August 21, 1838.