52
A BROKEN DREAM.
A BROKEN DREAM.
We met one evening just as sunset kissed
The glowing hills to blushes burning red,—
One summer evening when the sea's gray mist
Hung thick above the rocks on Lighthouse Head;
And warm, soft shades of amber, flecked with gold,
Played o'er the sands so cold, and white, and dead.
The glowing hills to blushes burning red,—
One summer evening when the sea's gray mist
Hung thick above the rocks on Lighthouse Head;
And warm, soft shades of amber, flecked with gold,
Played o'er the sands so cold, and white, and dead.
I can recall e'en now, though years have fled,
The very smell of clover on the breeze,—
And as I stand here breathless and alone,
The same salt scent floats to me from the seas,
And on the shore the waves press slowly up,
Breaking their hearts in music on the lees.
The very smell of clover on the breeze,—
And as I stand here breathless and alone,
The same salt scent floats to me from the seas,
And on the shore the waves press slowly up,
Breaking their hearts in music on the lees.
We parted when the dismal autumn rain
Fringed the drear hills with gray and ghostly white,
And through the leafless trees, in wordless pain,
The wind sobbed wildly to the listening night;
And at long intervals the death-pale moon
Showed, through the clouds, a globe of sickly light.
Fringed the drear hills with gray and ghostly white,
And through the leafless trees, in wordless pain,
The wind sobbed wildly to the listening night;
And at long intervals the death-pale moon
Showed, through the clouds, a globe of sickly light.
We met and parted. Others do the same;
And lives are shipwrecked every sunny day.
We bear the torture,—hide the rending pain,—
And show the world our faces bright and gay;
And no one dreams the worm is at the heart
Of the sweet rose that burst to bloom in May.
And lives are shipwrecked every sunny day.
We bear the torture,—hide the rending pain,—
And show the world our faces bright and gay;
And no one dreams the worm is at the heart
Of the sweet rose that burst to bloom in May.
