Believe me, ’tis no love of fame
That tempts my heart its lays to trill,
It trembles but to speak the love
Which all its chambers seems to fill—
A love for all the beautiful
In heaven, on earth, in sky, or sea,
And fain would touch some spirit chord
To wake an answering melody.

There’s music trembling in my heart,
Strange music, like the sea-shell’s tone,
Which fills my being with delight,
Most holy when I am alone;
Then like the fountain from the earth,
Or warblings from the birdling’s breast,
My thoughts come gushing from my soul,
And can not, will not be represt.

You ask, who tuned my girlish harp
And taught my lips these strains to sing;
Go ask the mountain-bird, who plumed
And gave such wildness to her wing—
Go ask the star whence came its light—
Ask the bright sea-shell whence its tone,
Who gave the rose its sweet perfume—
And let their answer be my own.

Ah, no! the glittering crown of Fame
For woman is too slight a prize
To trust her gentle heart upon,
With all its ardent sympathies;
The bay-wreath, on ambition’s brow,
May rest to-day all bright and fair,
And, ere tomorrow’s rosy dawn,
May turn to burning ashes there.

Let woman sing as sings the lark,
That fearlessly mounts up on high,
And, while she cheers the hearts on earth,
Let her bright wing still seek the sky,
Winning with sweetness and with song
The thoughts of those who watch her flight
To rise above the clouds of earth,
To the sweet clime of love and light.

Forget Me Not; A Collection of Poems.
Jennie T. McHenry
1867
(Book owned by me.)