Sighs

Sighs

THERE is a sigh - that, half supprest,

Seems scarce to heave the bosom fair;

It rises from the spotless breast,

The first faint dawn of tender care.

There is a sigh - so soft, so sweet,

It breathes not from the lip of woe;

'Tis heard where conscious lovers meet,

Whilst yet untold young passions glow.

There is a sigh - short, deep, and strong,

That on the lip of rapture dies;

It floats mild evening's shade along.

When meet the fond consenting eyes.

There is a sigh - that speaks regret,

Yet seems scarce conscious of its pain'

It tells of bliss remember'd yet,

Of bliss that ne'er must wake again.

There is a sigh - that, deeply breath'd,

Bespeaks the bosom's secret woe;

It says the flowers which Love had wreath'd

Are wither'd, ne'er again to blow,

There is a sigh - that slowly swells,

Then deeply breathes its load of care;

It speaks that in that bosom dwells,

That last worst pang, fond love's despair.

Mrs. Henry Rolls (Mary Rolls)

3:45, p. 363

1829.02.14