The Dying Lover Poem by Charlotte Dacre

OH, lovely youth! why seem thy cheeks so pale?
Oh, lovely youth! why are thine eyes so hollow?
Oh, live! or, rather than thy loss bewail,
To the cold grave thy lifeless corse I'd follow.

So spoke I to the idol of my love,
While in my heart I felt a deadly sorrow;
As with slow steps he languidly did move,
I thought with dreadful doubt upon the morrow.

The morrow came, and yet my lover liv'd;
Against a tree I saw his form reclining:
To heaven, with such a look my heart as riv'd,
He cast his eyes, with pious sweetness shining.

Ah! yes, toward the glorious sun he gaz'd
With languid smile, that said adieu for ever,
And patiently his wasted hands he rais'd,
Ah, fatal morn! forget it shall I never!

In brighter beauty, too, than morn he smil'd,
On his white check the red rose gaily blooming,
A momentary hope my soul beguil'd,
Which fate to deeper agony was dooming.

Oh, cruel malady! like some false friend
The livery of truth and kindness wearing,
Remorseless can the heart with daggers rend,
Which, trusting in thy smiles, is left despairing.

Now sank the joyous sun-beams in the west,
O'er his thin form a transient brightness casting;
The lovely wretch that they so gaily dress'd
Scarce than that transient brightness seem'd more lasting!

But, like th' anemony, most frail and fair,
With the last beam his fainting form expiring,
His spotless soul escap'd this world of care,
And seem'd, methought, upon that beam retiring!

From that sad hour no peace can I e'er know,
An early blight my fondest hopes destroying;
For tho' in spring frail flowers again may blow,
No second spring is there for my enjoying.