Song.

Never, oh never more! shall I behold
    Thy form so fair,
Or loosen from its braids the rippling gold
    Of thy long hair.

Never, oh never more! shall I be blest
    By thy voice low,
Or kiss, while thou art sleeping on my breast,
    Thy marble brow.

Never, oh never more! shall I inhale
    Thy fragrant sighs,
Or gaze, with fainting soul, upon the veil
    Of thy bright eyes.

Frances Anne Kemble

Frances Anne Kemble, also known as Fanny, was a notable British actress and writer born on November 27, 1809, and died on January 15, 1893. She was a prominent figure in the 19th century literary and theatrical circles. Kemble was known for her acting prowess and her detailed journals and memoirs, which provide valuable insights into the life and times of her era.

Frances Anne Kemble

An Entreaty.

Frances Anne Kemble, Simple Poetry

Sonnet.

Frances Anne Kemble, Simple Poetry

Sonnet.

Frances Anne Kemble, Simple Poetry

The Minstrel's Grave.

Frances Anne Kemble, Simple Poetry

English

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Song.

Yet once again, but once, before we sever,
    Fill we one brimming cup, - it is the last!
And let those lips, now parting, and for ever,
    Breathe o'er this pledge, "the memory of the past!"

Joy's fleeting sun is set; and no to-morrow
    Smiles on the gloomy path we tread so fast,
Yet, in the bitter cup, o'erfilled with sorrow,
    Lives one sweet drop, - the memory of the past.

But one more look from those dear eyes, now shining
    Through their warm tears, their loveliest and their last;
But one more strain of hands, in friendship twining,
    Now farewell all, save memory of the past.

Frances Anne Kemble

To The Picture Of A Lady.

Lady, sweet lady, I behold thee yet,
With thy pale brow, brown eyes, and solemn air,
And billowy tresses of thy golden hair,
Which once to see, is never to forget!
But for short space I gazed, with soul intent
Upon thee; and the limner's art divine,
Meantime, poured all thy spirit into mine.
But once I gazed, then on my way I went:
And thou art still before me.    Like a dream
Of what our soul has loved, and lost for ever,
Thy vision dwells with me, and though I never
May be so blest as to behold thee more,
That one short look has stamped thee in my heart,
Of my intensest life a living part,
Which time, and death, shall never triumph o'er.

Frances Anne Kemble

To ----

When we first met, dark wintry skies were glooming,
    And the wild winds sang requiem to the year;
But thou, in all thy beauty's pride wert blooming,
    And my young heart knew hope without a fear.

When we last parted, summer suns were smiling,
    And the bright earth her flowery vesture wore;
But thou hadst lost the power of beguiling,
    For my wrecked, wearied heart, could hope no more.

Frances Anne Kemble

An Invitation.

Come where the white waves dance along the shore
Of some lone isle, lost in the unknown seas;
Whose golden sands by mortal foot before
Were never printed, - where the fragrant breeze,
That never swept o'er land or flood that man
Could call his own, th' unearthly breeze shall fan
Our mingled tresses with its odorous sighs;
Where the eternal heaven's blue, sunny eyes
Did ne'er look down on human shapes of earth,
Or aught of mortal mould and death-doomed birth:
Come there with me; and when we are alone
In that enchanted desert, where the tone
Of earthly voice, or language, yet did ne'er
With its strange music startle the still air,
When clasped in thy upholding arms I stand,
Upon that bright world's coral-cradled strand,
When I can hide my face upon thy breast,

Frances Anne Kemble

To Mrs. ----

Oh lady! thou, who in the olden time
Hadst been the star of many a poet's dream!
Thou, who unto a mind of mould sublime,
Weddest the gentle graces that beseem
Fair woman's best! forgive the darling line
That falters forth thy praise! nor let thine eye
Glance o'er the vain attempt too scornfully;
But, as thou read'st, think what a love was mine,
That made me venture on a theme, that none
Can know thee, and not feel a hopeless one.
Thou art most fair, though sorrow's chastening wing
Hath past, and left its shadow on thy brow,
And solemn thoughts are gently mellowing
The splendour of thy beauty's summer now.
Thou art most fair! but thine is loveliness
That dwells not only on the lip, or eye;
Thy beauty, is thy pure heart's holiness;
Thy grace, thy lofty spir...

Frances Anne Kemble

To Mrs. ----

I never shall forget thee - 'tis a word
    Thou oft must hear, for surely there be none
    On whom thy wond'rous eyes have ever shone
But for a moment, or who e'er have heard
Thy voice's deep impassioned melody,
    Can lose the memory of that look or tone.
But, not as these, do I say unto thee,
    I never shall forget thee: - in thine eyes,
Whose light, like sunshine, makes the world rejoice,
    A stream of sad and solemn splendour lies;
And there is sorrow in thy gentle voice.
Thou art not like the scenes in which I found thee,
Thou art not like the beings that surround thee;
    To me, thou art a dream of hope and fear;
Yet why of fear? - oh sure! the Power that lent
Such gifts, to make thee fair, and excellent;
Still watches one whom it has deigned to ...

Frances Anne Kemble