Ere he could think she was indeed his own,
Own darling maid, whom he so long had known
In joy and sorrow, beautiful in both;
Who, even when grief was heaviest—when loth
He left her for the wars—in that worst hour
Sat in her sorrow like the sweet night-flower,[1]
When darkness brings its weeping glories out,
And spreads its sighs like frankincense about!
"Look up, my Zelica—one moment show
"Those gentle eyes to me that I may know
"Thy life, thy loveliness is not all gone,
"But there, at least, shines as it ever shone.
"Come, look upon thy Azim—one dear glance,
"Like those of old, were heav'n! whatever chance
"Hath brought thee here, oh! 'twas a blessed one!
"There—my sweet lids—they move—that kiss hath run
"Like the first shoot of life through every vein,
"And now I clasp her, mine, all mine again!
- ↑ The sorrowful nyctanthes, which begins to spread its rich odor after sunset.
