To ----

Oh, turn those eyes away from me!
    Though sweet, yet fearful are their rays;
And though they beam so tenderly,
    I feel, I tremble 'neath their gaze.
Oh, turn those eyes away! for though
    To meet their glance I may not dare,
I know their light is on my brow,
    By the warm blood that mantles there.

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

To The Dead.

Frances Anne Kemble, Simple Poetry

Fragment.

Frances Anne Kemble, Simple Poetry

Sonnet.

Frances Anne Kemble, Simple Poetry

A Promise.

Frances Anne Kemble, Simple Poetry

English

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To A Picture.

Oh, serious eyes! how is it that the light,
The burning rays that mine pour into ye,
Still find ye cold, and dead, and dark, as night -
Oh, lifeless eyes! can ye not answer me?
Oh, lips! whereon mine own so often dwell,
Hath love's warm, fearful, thrilling touch, no spell
To waken sense in ye? - oh, misery! -
Oh, breathless lips! can ye not speak to me?
Thou soulless mimicry of life! my tears
Fall scalding over thee; in vain, in vain;
I press thee to my heart, whose hopes, and fears,
Are all thine own; thou dost not feel the strain.
Oh, thou dull image! wilt thou not reply
To my fond prayers and wild idolatry?

Frances Anne Kemble

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

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 ----

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

To ----

Is it a sin to wish that I may meet thee
    In that dim world whither our spirits stray,
    When sleep and darkness follow life and day?
Is it a sin, that there my voice should greet thee
    With all that love that I must die concealing?
    Will my tear-laden eyes sin in revealing
The agony that preys upon my soul?
Is't not enough through the long, loathsome day,
To hold each look, and word, in stern control?
    May I not wish the staring sunlight gone,
    Day and its thousand torturing moments done,
And prying sights and sounds of men away?
    Oh, still and silent Night! when all things sleep,
    Locked in thy swarthy breast my secret keep:
    Come, with thy vision'd hopes and blessings now!
    I dream the only happiness I know.

Frances Anne Kemble

Her Vivien Eyes

Her Vivien eyes, - beware! beware!
Though they be stars, a deadly snare
They set beneath her night of hair.
Regard them not! lest, drawing near
As sages once in old Chaldee
Thou shouldst become a worshiper,
And they thy evil destiny.

Her Vivien eyes, - away! away!
Though they be springs, remorseless they
Gleam underneath her brow's bright day.
Turn, turn aside, whate'er the cost!
Lest in their deeps thou lures behold,
Through which thy captive soul were lost,
As was young Hylas once of old.

Her Vivien eyes, - take heed! take heed!
Though they be bibles, none may read
Therein of God or Holy Creed.
Look, look away! lest thou be cursed,
As Merlin was, romances tell,
And in their sorcerous spells immersed,
Hoping for Heaven thou cha...

Madison Julius Cawein