Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/143

Rh

Like woman, they have lost their loveliest gift, When yielding to the fiery hour of passion: The violet breath of love is purity.

On the shore opposite, a tower stands In ruins, with a mourning robe of moss Hung on the grey and shattered walls, which fling A shadow on the waters; it comes o'er The waves, all bright with sunshine, like the gloom Adversity throws on the heart's young gladness.

I saw the river on a summer eve: The sun was setting over fields of corn,— 'Twas like a golden sea;—and on the left Were vineyards, whence the grapes shone forth like gems,