Poem by Alexander Smith

* * *

I wrote a Name upon the river sands
With her who bore it standing by my side,
Her large dark eyes lit up with gentle pride,
And leaning on my arm with claspèd hands,
To burning words of mine she thus replied,
"Nay, writ not on thy heart. This tablet frail
Fitteth as frail a vow. Fantastic bands
Will scarce confine these limbs." I turned love-pale,
I gazed upon the river'd landscape wide,
And thought how little _it_ would all avail
Without her love. 'Twas on a morn of May,
Within a month I stood upon the sand,
Gone was the name I traced with trembling hand,--
And from my heart 'twas also gone away.

1. There Have Been Vast Displays of Critic Wit
2. Last Night My Cheek Was Wetted with Warm Tears
3. I Cannot Deem Why Men Toil So for Fame
4. Beauty Still Walketh on the Earth and Air
5. Joy Like a Stream Flows Through the Christmas-Streets

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