OH ! where amid this dreary scene
Of enmity and strife,
Unvex’d with many a thorn between,
Can spring one flow’r of life!
Here fortune basks in sunshine fair,
(A golden harvest round,)
There sinks, a prey to blank despair,
Abortive to the ground.
Thus ev’ry urn shall sorrow fill,
While mortals toil below,
And blast our joys with horror chill,
Amid this vale of woe.
Me hope inspires, with whisp’ring breath,
To tempt the air sublime,
To triumph o’er the shades of death
And injuries of time.
But lo! the Critics’ grizly band!
That dash the fairest crown,
Already lift the wasteful hand
To hurl me trembling down.
Yet still in fields where fame is sought,
For fame shall Emma sigh,
And shudder at the dismal thought,
To close th’ inglorious eye.
Still wildly singing all night long,
While Cynthia wond’ring views,
With rude simplicity of song
Call down th’ inspiring Muse.
(Emma Lyon)
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Based on Topics: Life Poems, Mind Poems, Time Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Fairness Poems, Thought & Thinking Poems, Fame Poems, Hostility Poems, Criticism PoemsBased on Keywords: basks, injuries, abortive, emma, grizly, unvex