Page:The Golden Violet.pdf/226

Rh

The ground she trod, the air she breathed, The blossoms in her dark hair wreathed, Her smile, her voice, to ’s eyes More precious seem'd than Paradise.

Yet was the silence sweet unbroken By vows in which young love is spoken. But when the heart has but one dream For midnight gloom or noontide beam, And one, at least, knows well what power Is ruling, words will find their hour; Though after growth of grief and pain, May wish those words unsaid again.

‘T was sunset, and the glorious heaven To ’s cheek and eye seem'd given;