Like pigeons, cooing in anxious calling,

You sigh for morn, with to-day not through,

When, unbethought, like a trap-door falling,

The earth unlocketh itself for you—

You disappear

Where no light is nearing—

Soon mem'ry dear

Is no more endearing—

And new-lit moon, from its silvered sky,

Again, sees others arrive and fly.

[Pg 20]

In circling dances so lightly swinging

You follow wildly amusement's thread,

With myrtle blooming and music ringing ...

But solemn I on the threshold tread:—

The dance is checked

And the clang is wailing,

The wreath is wrecked

And the bride is paling:

The end of splendor and joy and might

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