And music was in every sound:

And stars were peering overhead,

[Pg 2]

The western sun gleamed faint and red,

The hand that clasped, the lips that kissed,

Slow sinking through the tearful mist—

A wanderer from a distant shore:

But those he sought were there no more:

Would pause the mournful tale to hear,

Or, step by step, would venture near

[Pg 3]

There, where he last had seen her face:

Seemed yet to haunt the ancient place:

And evening mists began to roll,

Of that black shadow on his soul,

Still lingered out the lessening days;

Each passing face with closer gaze—

[Pg 4]

To mock its own despairing cry,

New luxuries of agony,

 Prev. P 3/30 next