Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/98

 O beautiful child of a beautiful morn!
 * There’s a beautiful bodice begemming thy breast,

But it speaks of the cerement, that Seraphs have worn,
 * And it tells of a nightingale slain in its nest.

And I gaze, and I gaze, and I gaze, ’till the moon,
 * With its irised aureola, sleeps on her brow—

My Isis! thy image departed too soon,
 * For I gaze and I gaze on thy vacancy now.

O beautiful child of a beautiful day!
 * There’s a beautiful song on thy Sibylline lip;

But it sings of the breaker that boils in the bay,
 * And it dirges the doom of a desolate ship.

Lost—lost, long ago! and she dreams o’er the sea,
 * Where the rude Saxon daisies above her have blown;

I know that the angels are angry with me,
 * For the woman is dead that my spirit hath known!