Page:Poems of Sentiment and Imagination.djvu/21

Rh THE DESERTED CITY.

been weeping—not the April dew

That leaves the heart the lighter for the shedding;

But drops of anguish, from a fountain full

Of bitter waters—troubled, too, and deep.

Till the moon rose to the horizon's brim

And looking o'er the earth with a calm smile,

Went on her peaceful way among the stars,

I sat with brow bared to the balmy breath

Of the soft breeze of evening, as it came

Whispering around me with a lulling song,

Kissing most tenderly my fevered brow,

Wooing the agony from my wild pulse,

And striving by its blandishments to steal

My soul away into forgetfulness.

And when the moon, like a sweet white-robed mother,

In all her pensive loveliness uprose,

And went forth, with her still white feet, among

The stars, her sleeping children, with a smile

Of mingled majesty and matchless love,

I raised my eyes as a lone orphan would,

Longing for the great bliss of tenderness;

And lo! the light of her angelic face

Was bent upon me—sad, but oh, so sweet!

And by degrees my anguish wore away,