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Article THE PRISON-FLOWER. ← Page 3 of 3
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The Prison-Flower.
I look'd upon the bright and breathing thing , And half forgot my heart ' s slow withering ! IV . That night I sank upon my rustling straw , And smiled amid my prayer—I did not prove
Such utter loneliness of soul—I saw That I had something still which I could love . That simple flower!—it seem'd to fill my cell , With beauty and with perfume like a spell !
v . Stranger ! what boots it I should toll theo more ? The blossom wither'd in that prison air ; Ere many days the scent and bloom were o ' er , And leaf by leaf it fell , and perish'd there ! Aye , perished to the root , —flower , leaf , and stem ! Oh ! had there been but some traces left
poor , I had not been so utterly bereft , For still I might have nurs'd and cherish'd them ! But no—it faded—died—I was alone—The only thing of beauty which for years Had smiled on my captivity , was gone . I ask ye not to pity me—with tears _ Twept that blossom . In heart ' s pride
your gay , You have cast many a fairer flower aside , Nor graced it with a thought . You cannot tell My hopes , my feelings in that narrow cell , With this alone to love . Enough , it died ! _ £ : % & __ : __ : __ .
Will you now ask me why I love the flowers P Why amid perfum'd bloom I spend my hours P My hair was gray when Freedom smiled on me ; My lov'd ones knew me not : —I turn'd to see If Nature , too , had chang'd ;—I found her gay , With all the leaves , and scents , and buds of May : I made my home among them . # * * # * *
JST . B . —The author of this little poem considers it due to herself to assure her readers that it was written several years before the exquisite tale of M . de Santine , " La Picciola , " was published ; the original idea being so remarkably similar as to involve a suspicion of plagiarism , from which she trusts to be exonerated bv this disclaimer .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
The Prison-Flower.
I look'd upon the bright and breathing thing , And half forgot my heart ' s slow withering ! IV . That night I sank upon my rustling straw , And smiled amid my prayer—I did not prove
Such utter loneliness of soul—I saw That I had something still which I could love . That simple flower!—it seem'd to fill my cell , With beauty and with perfume like a spell !
v . Stranger ! what boots it I should toll theo more ? The blossom wither'd in that prison air ; Ere many days the scent and bloom were o ' er , And leaf by leaf it fell , and perish'd there ! Aye , perished to the root , —flower , leaf , and stem ! Oh ! had there been but some traces left
poor , I had not been so utterly bereft , For still I might have nurs'd and cherish'd them ! But no—it faded—died—I was alone—The only thing of beauty which for years Had smiled on my captivity , was gone . I ask ye not to pity me—with tears _ Twept that blossom . In heart ' s pride
your gay , You have cast many a fairer flower aside , Nor graced it with a thought . You cannot tell My hopes , my feelings in that narrow cell , With this alone to love . Enough , it died ! _ £ : % & __ : __ : __ .
Will you now ask me why I love the flowers P Why amid perfum'd bloom I spend my hours P My hair was gray when Freedom smiled on me ; My lov'd ones knew me not : —I turn'd to see If Nature , too , had chang'd ;—I found her gay , With all the leaves , and scents , and buds of May : I made my home among them . # * * # * *
JST . B . —The author of this little poem considers it due to herself to assure her readers that it was written several years before the exquisite tale of M . de Santine , " La Picciola , " was published ; the original idea being so remarkably similar as to involve a suspicion of plagiarism , from which she trusts to be exonerated bv this disclaimer .