Page:The Vow of the Peacock.pdf/318



shadow rests upon the place Where once thy footsteps roved; Nor leaf, nor blossom, bear a trace Of how thou wert beloved. The very night dew disappears Too soon, as if it spared its tears.

Thou art forgotten!—thou, whose feet Were listen'd for like song! They used to call thy voice so sweet;— It did not haunt them long. Thou, with thy fond and fairy mirth— How could they bear their lonely hearth!