Poem Hunter
JK (1784-1856 / Jamaica)



Yes, Lady! yes—that voice of thine,
That voice of thine, whose strange control
Steals o'er this wondering heart of mine,
As forth the touching accents roll;
On which, beneath the noon-day grove,
So late my rapt attention hung,
While that sweet tale of father's love
Came faltering from a daughter's tongue;
Yes, Lady! yes—that voice of thine
Recalls a voice I knew before,
And well may stir this heart of mine
With throbs it deemed to feel no more.

And then thy sweetly-pensive smile,
Whose sweetness seems to strive with pain,
This, too, in her beloved erewhile,
In thee betrays my heart again.
Yet when to smile of thine I cling,
I seem as to the dead untrue;
And what a joy thy voice would bring,
But that it brings a sorrow too!
I look—I listen—loth to part;
Yet wish that we had never met;
And feel how sadly fares a heart,
Twixt love that vibrates and regret.

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