Ifs

OH! if the winds could whisper what they hear,

When murmuring round at sunset through the grove;

If words were written on the streamlet clear,

So often spoken fearlessly above:

If tell-tale stars, descending from on high,

Could image forth the thoughts of all that gaze,

Entranced upon that deep cerulean sky,

And count how few think only of their rays!

If the lulled heaving ocean could

All that has passed upon her golden sand,

When the moon-lighted waves triumphant rose,

And dashed their spray upon the echoing strand.

If dews could tell how many tears have

With the bright gem-like drops that Nature weeps,

If night could say how many eyes are

On her dark shadows, while creation sleeps!

If echo, rising from her magic throne,

Repeated with her melody of

Each timid sigh—each whispered word and tone,

Which made the hearer's listening heart rejoice.

If Nature could, unchecked, repeat

All she hath heard and seen—must hear and see—Where would the whispering, vowing, sighing

Of lovers, and their blushing partners, be?