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 bless
With such a dower of grace and loveliness;
    Over the dangerous waves 'twill surely steer
The richly freighted bark, through storm and blast,
And guide it safely to the port at last.
Such is my prayer; 'tis warm as ever fell
From off my lips: accept it, and farewell!
And though in this strange world where first I met thee;
We meet no more - I never shall forget thee.

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 A Star.

Frances Anne Kemble, Simple Poetry

A Wish.

Frances Anne Kemble, Simple Poetry

A Promise.

Frances Anne Kemble, Simple Poetry

An Apology.

Frances Anne Kemble, Simple Poetry

English

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To ----

When the glad sun looks smiling from the sky,
    Upon each shadowy glen and woody height,
And that you tread those well known paths where I
    Have stray'd with you, - do not forget me quite.

When the warm hearth throws its bright glow around,
    On many a smiling cheek, and glance of light,
And the gay laugh wakes with its joyous sound
    The soul of mirth, - do not forget me quite.

You will not miss me; for with you remain
    Hearts fond and warm, and spirits young and bright,
'Tis but one word - "farewell;" and all again
    Will seem the same, - yet don't forget me quite.

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 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 Miss ---

Time beckons on the hours: the expiring year
    Already feels old Winter's icy breath;
As with cold hands, he scatters on her bier
    The faded glories of her Autumn wreath.
As fleetly as the Summer's sunshine past,
    The Winter's snow must melt; and the young Spring,
Strewing the earth with flowers, will come at last,
    And in her train the hour of parting bring.
But, though I leave the harbour, where my heart
    Sometime had found a peaceful resting-place,
Where it lay calmly moored; though I depart,
    Yet, let not time my memory quite efface.
'Tis true, I leave no void, the happy home
    To which you welcomed me, will be as gay,
As bright, as cheerful, when I've turned to roam,
    Once more, upon life's weary onward way.
But oh! if ever by the wa...

Frances Anne Kemble

Farewell

Farewell to thee! but not farewell
To all my fondest thoughts of thee:
Within my heart they still shall dwell;
And they shall cheer and comfort me.

O, beautiful, and full of grace!
If thou hadst never met mine eye,
I had not dreamed a living face
Could fancied charms so far outvie.

If I may ne'er behold again
That form and face so dear to me,
Nor hear thy voice, still would I fain
Preserve, for aye, their memory.

That voice, the magic of whose tone
Can wake an echo in my breast,
Creating feelings that, alone,
Can make my tranced spirit blest.

That laughing eye, whose sunny beam
My memory would not cherish less;
And oh, that smile! whose joyous gleam
Nor mortal language can express.

Adieu, but let me cherish, st...

Anne Bronte

A Wish.

Let me not die for ever, when I'm gone
    To the cold earth! but let my memory
Live like the gorgeous western light that shone
    Over the clouds where sank day's majesty.
Let me not be forgotten! though the grave
    Has clasped its hideous arms around my brow.
Let me not be forgotten! though the wave
    Of time's dark current rolls above me now.
Yet not in tears remembered be my name;
    Weep over those ye loved; for me, for me,
Give me the wreath of glory, and let fame
    Over my tomb spread immortality!

Frances Anne Kemble