Page:Poems of Emma Lazarus vol 2.djvu/258

240 O Muse, insatiate soul, demand No more than lies in human power. Man writes no word upon the sand Even at the furious whirlwind's hour. There was a time when joyous youth Forever fluttered at my mouth, A merry, singing bird, just freed. Strange martyrdom has since been mine, Should I revive its slightest sign, At the first note, my lyre and thine Would snap asunder like a reed.

My haunting grief has vanished like a dream, Its floating fading memory seems one With those frail mists bom of the dawn's first beam. Dissolving as the dew melts in the sun.

What ailed thee then, O poet mine ; What secret misery was thine. Which set a bar 'twixt thee and me ? Alas, I suffer from it still ;