Wlliam Gilmore Simms
The Charleston Book: A Miscellany in Prose and Verse >> The Frozen Dew-Drop >> Page 163

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Page 163

Poetry | The Reprint Company; Samuel Hart, Sen. | 1845, 1983
Transcription THE FROZEN DEW-DROP.

How lavishly the moon to-night,
Her silver o'er the landscape throws ;
The stars pour down their crystal light,
The dew sleeps sweetly on the rose ;
Yes ! night has shed her pearly tears,
The drooping flowers of earth redressing,
And beautiful each bud appears,
A sparkling drop of light caressing.

'Tis morn ! each flower that sprang so fair,
Is withering on the bending stem,
The moistening dew is frozen there,
And shines a cold but glittering gem ;
And find ye, where yon ruins lie,
Of drooping, weary, wasted flowers,
An emblem of our destiny
In youth's gay sunlit fleeting hours ?

Go, ask that one, whose early year
Reflected blending love and bliss ;
She'll point you to her image here,
And weeping say—"'Tis this 'tis this !"
Within her eye, upon her brow,
Once virtue's image bright was beaming,
Oh ! wrecks of hopes but linger now,
And wintry wreaths are wildly streaming.