Page:Poems Denver.djvu/109

Can the witching heart of beauty
 Refuse to hear the call,
To pay devotion what it owes,
 And render thrall for thrall?
O! love, and true love only,
 Dwells in the silent heart;
The haughty show, the outward pomp
 Can bear in it no part.

The strain has ceased. O, music!
 How thou dost play with thought!
Can dreams of Venice to us bring,
 The light of things forgot?
Gone is thy day of glory,
 Bird of the folded wings;
City of griefs! thou art indeed
 The grave of glorious things.