First Love

Poem By Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton

YES, I know that you once were my lover,
But that sort of thing has an end,
And though love and its transports are over,
You know you can still be--my friend:
I was young, too, and foolish, remember;
(Did you ever hear John Hardy sing?)
It was then, the fifteenth of November,
And this is the end of the spring!

You complain that you are not well-treated
By my suddenly altering so;
Can I help it?--you're very conceited,
If you think yourself equal to Joe.
Don't kneel at my feet, I implore you;
Don't write on the drawings you bring;
Don't ask me to say, 'I adore you,'
For, indeed, it is now no such thing.

I confess, when at Bognor we parted,
I swore that I worshipped you then--
That I was a maid broken-hearted,
And you the most charming of men.
I confess, when I read your first letter,
I blotted your name with a tear--
But, oh! I was young--knew no better,
Could I tell that I'd meet Hardy here?

How dull you are grown! how you worry,
Repeating my vows to be true--
If I said so, I told you a story,
For I love Hardy better than you!
Yes! my fond heart has fixed on another,
(I sigh so whenever he's gone,)
I shall always love you--as a brother,
But my heart is John Hardy's alone.

Comments about First Love

The realization that her so called first love was mere infatuation and her love was some one else who mat later, beautifully described.
This is one of the funniest poems I have ever read. Beautiful in a very refreshingly amusing way.
Wow! I guess she put him in his place! She uses John Hardy in the last line. Earlier she said ... If you think yourself equal to Joe. So I was thinking Joe Hardy (and his brother Frank) . I'm probably the only one here old enough to remember the old Hardy Boys mystery books.
Love and pain nice poem


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Other poems of NORTON

I Was Not False To Thee

I WAS not false to thee, and yet
My cheek alone looked pale;
My weary eye was dim and wet,

As When From Dreams Awaking

AS when from dreams awaking
The dim forms float away
Whose visioned smiles were making
Our darkness bright as day;

Dreams

SURELY I heard a voice-surely my name
Was breathed in tones familiar to my heart!
I listened-and the low wind stealing came,

Dedication

ONCE more, my harp! once more, although I thought
Never to wake thy silent strings again,
A wandering dream thy gentle chords have wrought,

My Heart Is Like A Withered Nut!

MY heart is like a withered nut,
Rattling within its hollow shell;
You cannot ope my breast, and put
Any thing fresh with it to dwell.

Edward

HEAVY is my trembling heart, mine own love, my dearest,
Heavy as the hearts whose love is poured in vain;