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THE IMPROVISATRICE.
Your last looks watched,—your last sigh caught,
As life or Heaven were in that sigh!
Passing in loveliness and light;
Your heart as pure,—your cheek as bright
As the spring-rose, whose petals shut,
By sun unscorched, by shower unwet;
Leaving behind a memory
Shrined in love's fond eternity.
But I was wakened from this dream
By a burst of light—a gush of song—
A welcome, as the stately doors
Poured in a gay and gorgeous throng.
I could see all from where I stood.
And first I looked upon the bride;
She was a pale and lovely girl;—
But, oh God: who was by her side?—
