Yes; for, while memory languidly is fetching
Her treasures from the depths which they have lain among,
A fragile hand — how thin — how weak — is sadl… - Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Yes; for, while memory languidly is fetching Her treasures from the depths which they have lain among, A fragile hand — how thin — how weak — is sadly sketching Figures and fancies that cell's white walls along. On the lip there is a murmur — It is the swan's last song.
Letitia Elizabeth Landon (August 14, 1802 – October 15, 1838) was an English poet and novelist, better known by her initials L. E. L. She was one of the richest sources of epigrams in the early nineteenth century and one reviewer compared her to Rochefoucauld. Sometimes she adopts an adversarial role, giving contradictory viewpoints. Some of her thoughts recur, either developed or refined, but over time she also threw out differing opinions on some subjects; changeability, she argues, is one of our principal traits and, as she has one character remark, truth is like the philosopher's stone, a thing not to be discovered.
Thou, Poetry, in absence wert a chain, Binding our hearts together: where so well As in thy numbers, could I pour my soul, In soothing tenderness? 'twas bliss, to make Thought visible to those of whom I thought.
I would not even have him weep O'er his Italian love's last sleep. Oh, tears are a most worthless token, When hearts they would have soothed are broken.
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{of Theatres} There, while weeping for sorrows which are not, laughing at the light jest or the ludicrous misadventure, how little is remembered of the want which makes fear the only bond that binds the living to life !
