Lines to Edith, on Her Birthday
If the same star our fates together bind,
Why are we thus divided, mind from mind?
If the same law one grief to both impart,
How couldst thou grieve a trusting mother’s heart?
Our aspiration seeks a common aim;
Why were we tempered of such differing frame?
But ’tis too late to turn this wrong to right;
Too cold, too damp, too deep, has fallen the night.
And yet, the angel of my life replies,
Upon that night a morning star shall rise,
Fairer than that which ruled thy temporal birth,
Undimmed by vapors of the dreamy earth.
It says, that, where a heart thy claim denies,
Genius shall read its secret ere it flies;
The earthly form may vanish from thy side,
Pure love will make thee still the spirit’s bride.
And thou, ungentle, yet much loving child,
Whose heart still shows the “untamed haggard wild,”
A heart which justly makes the highest claim,
Too easily is checked by transient blame.
Ere such an orb can ascertain its sphere,
The ordeal must be various and severe;
My prayer attend thee, though the feet may fly;
I hear thy music in the silent sky.