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PAUL STEPHEN ANYOS.
47
Once even a whisper touch'd her soul―was music in her ears;
Now is she senseless to my cries, and heedless of my tears:
A tear―which once cou1d melt her heart and agitate her thought,
Whate'er I felt she felt―to each common doom was
brought;
But death has cut the holy band―and now her heavenly eye
Shall ne'er be wet with selfish tears, nor tears of sympathy.
Sleep, sleep, sweet spirit! sleep in peace―I will not mourn―I feel,
Though thou art silent, yet I dwell within thy bosom still.
But I, while still I toil along through life's devoted road,
Must bear in hopelessness and grief my overwhelming load.
