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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115190" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The image broken</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas but a dream; a fond and foolish dream;<br>  The calenture of a delirious brain,<br> Whose fever thirst creates the rushing stream.<br>  Now to the actual I awake again:<br> The vision to my gaze one moment granted,<br> Fades in its light away, and leaves me disenchanted.<br> <br> The image that my glowing fancy wrought,<br>  Now to the dust with ruthless hand I cast:<br> Thus I renounce the worship that I sought;<br>  Of my own idol the iconoclast.<br> The echo of "Eureka, I have found!"<br> Falls back upon my heart, a vain and empty sound.<br> <br> Oh disembodied being of my mind,<br>  So wildly loved, so fervently adored;<br> In whom all high and glorious gifts I shrined,<br>  And my heart's incense on the altar poured;<br> Now do I know, that clad in mortal guise,<br> Ne'er on this earth wilt thou upon my vision rise.<br> <br> That only in the vague, cold realm of thought,<br>  Shall I meet thee whom here I seek in vain;<br> And like Egyptian Isis, when she sought<br>  The scattered fragments of Osiris slain,<br> Now do I know that I shall never find<br> But fragments of thy soul within earth's clay enshrined.<br> <br> Thou whom I have not seen, and shall not see,<br>  Till the sad drama of this life be o'er!<br> Yet do I not renounce my faith in thee:<br>  Thou art still mine, I think, forevermore;<br> And this belief shall be the funeral pyre<br> Of all less noble love, -- of all less high desire.<br> <br> Here, like the Hindoo widow, I will bring<br>  Hope, youth, and all that woman prizes most,<br> The glow of summer and the bloom of spring,<br>  And on thy altar lay the holocaust;<br> And in my faith exulting, I will see<br> The sacrifice consume, I consecrate to thee.<br> <br> To love's sweet tones my heart shall never thrill,<br>  Nor, as the tardy years their circles roll,<br> Shall they the ardor of its pulses chill.<br>  Thus will I live, in widowhood of soul,<br> Until, at last, my lingering exile o'er,<br> Upon some lovelier star, too bless'd, we meet once more.<br> <br> Oh, tell me not, that now indeed I dream;<br>  That these aspirings mocked at last will be: --<br> Gleams of a higher life, to me they seem<br>  A sacred pledge of immortality.<br> Tell not the yearning heart it shall not find:<br> Oh Love, thou art too strong! Oh God, thou art too kind!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anne+Lynch+Botta">Anne Lynch Botta</a> from <i>Poems</i><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115190" data-title="The image broken de Anne Lynch Botta" data-description="'Twas but a dream; a fond and foolish dream;/  The calenture of a delirious brain,/ Whose fever thirst creates the rushing stream./  Now to the actual I awake again:/ The vision to my gaze one moment granted,/ Fades in its light away, and leaves m..."></div>
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