Menken, Adah Isaacs
Alas! poor heart, what am I now?
A weed--a frail, bitter weed-- growing outside the garden
All day straining my dull eyes to see the blossoms
within, as they wave their crimson flags to the wind.
And yet my dark leaves pray to be as glorious as the
My bitter stalks would be as sweet as the violet if they
I try to bloom up into the light.33My poor, yearning soul to Heaven would open its velvet
eyes of fire.
Oh! the love of Beauty through every fibre of my lonely
life is trembling!
Every floating cloud and flying bird draws up jealous
Envy and bleeding Love!
So passionately wild in me is this burning unspeakable
thirst to grow all beauty, all grace, all melody to one--and
to him alone!