Page:Poems of Sentiment and Imagination.djvu/187

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Her tresses stole to kiss the silvery moss,
And her white dress laid daintily and light
Upon bright, crisping leaves—the river sang—
The sky was soft, and fresh, and delicate—
The breeze went by, and its invisible wings
Were laden with perfume and melody—
They were a mockery!

Her lip was mute,
But there was something fraught with agony
In the still drooping of her slender form,
And the white face lying in her cold hands.

The sun went down and the wind asleep,
And the sky shut its twilight eyelids close,
While evening made her toilette. She came forth,
Shining all over with soft, radiant gems.
And eloquent in peace and loveliness;
The dimpling bosoms of the silver waves
Swelled full of melody in praise of her.
And the dark shadows crept beneath the trees
To hide away from her clear, azure eyes.
Those deep, still eyes were on the stricken girl—
The pure, proud, beautiful girl, whose first wild grief
Was knowledge of the evil in man's heart:
An agony awoke the bright young dreams
Which lay within her bosom, thrilled with bliss,
And turned them into sorrows, when her soul
Bent, shuddering, to hear the words of friends
Blending his name with images of sin
She had not known existed. Him—oh! him!
To whom she gave such trust and reverence!
Such perfect, earnest, spiritual love!
Her heart shrank back from the black altar-place
Where its sweet wealth was laid—she could not give
Her sacred offerings where unholy fires
So long had burned! Her very artlessness
And innocence of evil caused her grief!