Page:Records of Woman.pdf/169

Rh

All happy things that love the sun In the bright air glanc'd by, And a glad murmur seem'd to run Thro' the soft azure sky.

Fresh leaves were on the ivy-bough That fring'd the ruins near; Young voices were abroad—but thou Their sweetness couldst not hear.

And mournful grew my heart for thee, Thou in whose woman's mind The ray that brightens earth and sea, The light of song was shrined.

Mournful, that thou wert slumbering low, With a dread curtain drawn Between thee and the golden glow Of this world's vernal dawn.