Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward


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Heart of iron, smile of ice,
Oh! the rock.
See him stand as dumb as death.
If you could,
Would you care to stir or shock
Him, think you, by a blow or breath,
From his mood?

Arms of velvet, lips of love,
Oh! the wave.
See her creeping to his feet
None shall know the sign he gave.
Death since then, were all too sweet.
Let her die.

Lift thine eyes upon the sea,
Soul of stone.
Rather (wouldst thou breathe or move?)
I would be
A warm wave, faithful, wasted, thrown,
Spent and rent and dead with love,
Than be thee.

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Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward