Timothy Thomas Fortune Poems

Why waste regrets on shattered hopes that beat
Themselves to death against a woman's breast?
Why seek in Arctic fields of snow and sleet
...

There was love, and there was beauty,
In the face upturned to me;
And her hair was long and golden,
Soft to touch and good to see;
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Among the slaves Garcia did own
Was one in service aged grown,
The trusted mother of the place—
A part of Garcia's ancient race.
...

Don Garcia, with advancing age,
For he was living life's last page,
Became more headstrong and more vain,
If to that state he could attain;
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Oh, take me again to the clime of my birth,
The dearest, the fairest, to me on the earth,
The clime where the roses are sweetest that bloom,
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The man who finds a diamond in the clay
And knows its worth from common glass
That others trod upon or blindly pass
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Before the Ark on Ararat a lodgment found,
The Elsmeres dwelt in clouds of doubt and fear;
And, still, when Time has reached its closing year,
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The heart that is pining for love that is vain
Will outlive its sorrow and conquer its pain,
Will seek where is hidden the balsam 'gainst woe,
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Have you e'er heard, at early morn,
The feathered poet sing his song,
Clear as a huntsman's clarion horn,
Yet softer, sweeter, and as strong?
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Nor fleeting time, nor space, can change
The nature of the savage strange
Whose heart was touched long years ago
...