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For ever and for ever,—and though late,
Now leave me to self-guidance, and to fate.
Then passed that glorious spirit, and the smile
She whilome wore fled from her beauteous cheek;
And paleness, and a troubled grief the while
Subdued her voice.—Methought I strove to speak
Some words of tender sympathy, and caught
Her small white trembling hand, but, she, distraught,
Turned her fair form away, and nearer drew
To where the clustering ivy leaves thick grew,
And shaded half the casement—There she stood,
Like a tall crystal column, in the flood
Of the fair moonshine, and right thoughtful-wise
She seemed to scan the aspect of the skies;
Sudden a tremulous tear filled either eye,
Yet fell not on her check, but dubiously,
Like dew gems upon a flower, hung quivering there;
And, like a love-crazed maiden, she half sang,
Half uttered mournful fancies in despair;
And indistinctly in my ear there rung
Something of years to be,—of dark, dark years,
Laden with sorrow, madness, fury, tears—
Of days that had no sunshine—and of nights
Estranged from slumber—of harsh worldly slights—
