Page:Troubadour.pdf/174

170

But her dark eyes! as the wild light Streams from the stars at deep midnight, Speaks of the future,—so those eyes Seem'd with their fate to sympathise, As mocking with their conscious shade The smile that on the red lip play'd, As that they knew their destiny Was love, and that such love would be The uttermost of misery.

There came a new burst of perfume, But different, from one stately room, Not of sweet woods, waters distill'd, But with fresh flowers' breathings fill'd; And there the maiden paused, as thought Some painful memory to her brought.