Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury. 1875.
William Cowper CLXII. To the SameT
Since first our sky was overcast;
Ah, would that this might be the last!
My Mary!
I see thee daily weaker grow—
’Twas my distress that brought thee low,
My Mary!
For my sake restless heretofore,
Now rust disused and shine no more,
My Mary!
The same kind office for me still,
Thy sight now seconds not thy will,
My Mary!
And all thy threads with magic art
Have wound themselves about this heart,
My Mary!
Like language utter’d in a dream;
Yet me they charm, whate’er the theme,
My Mary!
Are still more lovely in my sight
Than golden beams of orient light,
My Mary!
What sight worth seeing could I see?
The sun would rise in vain for me,
My Mary!
Thy hands their little force resign;
Yet, gently prest, press gently mine,
My Mary!
That now at every step thou mov’st
Upheld by two; yet still thou lov’st,
My Mary!
In wintry age to feel no chill,
With me is to be lovely still,
My Mary!
How oft the sadness that I show
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe,
My Mary!
With much resemblance of the past,
Thy worn-out heart will break at last,
My Mary!