A PICTURE.
Upon her pale cheek, day by day,
No tender, rosy blushes play;
The shadows gathered on her hair
Lie soft above her forehead fair;
A frailer shade is she.
No tender, rosy blushes play;
The shadows gathered on her hair
Lie soft above her forehead fair;
A frailer shade is she.
No footstep on the stone goes by,
But strikes a fire across her eye;
No sudden voice a word can speak,
But flashes red light on her cheek;
Such guards her quick thoughts be.
But strikes a fire across her eye;
No sudden voice a word can speak,
But flashes red light on her cheek;
Such guards her quick thoughts be.
All day she sees the sullen rain
Splash slow against the window-pane;
All night the south-wind makes its moan,
About her chamber low and lone;
She cannot die nor rest.
Splash slow against the window-pane;
All night the south-wind makes its moan,
About her chamber low and lone;
She cannot die nor rest.
Like some old saint in cell withdrawn,
In prayer and penance till the dawn,
In prayer and penance till the dawn,
