ISABELLE AND I.
125
The tall and shattered arches
Their flickering shadows cast,
Like bent and hoary spectres,
Low murmuring of the past.
Their flickering shadows cast,
Like bent and hoary spectres,
Low murmuring of the past.
And Isabelle toils o'er the Alps.
Through fields of ice and snow,
To see the lofty glaciers
Flash in the sun's red glow.
I feel no cold, and yet on high
Their shining spires I see.
Why should I envy Isabelle?
Why should she pity me?
Through fields of ice and snow,
To see the lofty glaciers
Flash in the sun's red glow.
I feel no cold, and yet on high
Their shining spires I see.
Why should I envy Isabelle?
Why should she pity me?
Why should I envy Isabelle
When thus so easily,
Upon a tropic flower's perfume
I float across the sea?
When thus so easily,
Upon a tropic flower's perfume
I float across the sea?
