FRANKINCENSE 
The Incense of the Heart 
In the confiding hope of youth 
I yielded thee my heart, 
With its deep mines of love and truth— 
And is it thus we part? 
In childhood’s careless, joyous time, 
“In girlhood’s lightsome mood,” 
In sobered maiden’s thoughtful prime, 
With wild hopes all subdued— 
Thou’st been the best beloved of all, 
In Nature or in Art, 
My thought in joy—in sorrow’s thrall— 
And is it thus we part? 
Tfiy love has blessed with many a view 
Of joy my darkened sight, 
Thy heaven-born dreams—so pure and true, 
Were day unto my night. 
’Tis gone—’tis past—the light has fled, 
And darkness fills my heart; 
But “blessings on thy way, beloved!” 
Oh! is it thus we part? 
This is “the requiem of years” 
In idol-worship past, 
The wail above departed hopes, 
The cherished and the last. 
To know we ne’er again should meet, 
But should unite in heart, 
That thought were sad—but life is fleet: 
Thus could I bear to part. 
But as the Indian devotee, 
By heathen dreams betrayed, 
Beneath his idol’s jeweled car, 
His form in frenzy laid, 
So have I thrown myself, for hope, 
Upon thy heedless heart; 
The car passed on—so passest thou, 
As reckless how we part! 
A. Q. P. 
