Moonlight and starlight alike seemed cold,

As their silver glanced on her locks of gold;

And the dream on her face was a dream of old,

Whose sorrow no sunrise might smile away.

I read her yearning and weary smile,

As her song rang sadder and sadder the while,

With its weird refrain of a magic isle,

Where some might have rest, but never might she!

She, the darling of Sky and Stream,

She was but as wind, or as wave, or as dream,

To play for a while in life's glory and gleam:

But what would be left at the end of the day?

[28]

II

The sun smiles down upon her distress

With a tyrant smile most pitiless,

As she stitches away in her tatter'd dress,

With a song on her lips, that sinks in a sigh.

Yet, scorning her dusty window pane,

For all his pride, in love he is fain

 Prev. P 29/44 next