Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By Langdon ElwynMitchell

1477 Songs

FEAR

THERE is a sound I would not hear,

Although it music’s self might be;

Lest in my breast a crystal sphere

Might burst, might break for melody.

There is a face I would not see

Tho’ like the springtime it were fair;

Lest love that was a barren tree

Should burst in bloom—should blossoms bear.

SWEETS THAT DIE

HOW fades that native breath

The rose exhales,

Whenas her bloom is o’er!

Altho’ her petals on the evening gales

Are wafted by, a fleet of fairy sails,

She is, alas! no more.

And love dies like the rose,

And fills the air

With many a deep drawn sigh:

Shall I not both embalm with sacred care,

That they may have, in sweetly-breathëd air,

Their immortality!