| Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916. | | | X. The Pity of It
On a Locket, with lock of hair of Penelope his child | | By Sir Brooke Boothby (1743–1824) |
| | 1791
BRIGHT, crispèd threads of pure, translucent gold! | |
| Ye, who were wont with Zephyr’s breath to play; | |
| O’er the warm cheek, and ivory forehead stray; | |
| Or clasp her neck in many an amorous fold; | |
| Now, motionless, this little shrine must hold; | 5 |
| No more to wanton in the eye of day, | |
| Or to the breeze your changing hues display; | |
| For ever still, inanimate, and cold! | |
| Poor, poor, last relic of an angel face! | |
| Sad setting ray, no more thy orb is seen! | 10 |
| O, Beauty’s pattern, miracle of grace, | |
| Must this be all that tells what thou hast been! | |
| Come then, cold crystal, on this bosom lie, | |
| Till Love, and Grief, and fond Remembrance die! | | | | |
|
|
