Page:The Golden Violet.pdf/66

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Never was life or sound in its wave,— An abyss like that of the depths of the grave. On yet she went; till, sudden as thought, By her stood the seer whom she wildly sought. She had heard no step, seen no shadow glide, Yet there the prophetess was by her side. As the skilful in music tone their chords, The lady had arm'd her with soothing words; But she look'd on the face that fronted her there, And her words and their substance melted in air. Pale as the corpse on its deathbed reclining; And hands through whose shadow the starbeam was shining, As they waved from her forehead the raven cloud Of hair that fell to her feet like a shroud; And awful eyes,—never had earth To their fearful wanderings given birth,