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My humbler offering she took,
Red, trembling, as in scorn,
Nor deigned vouchsafe me e'en a look—
And 'twas her birth-day morn!
Oh! had her angel eye the power
To kill, or turn to stone,
I'd better borne such glance that hour
Than that averted one.
And forth I wandered—and I vowed
My fond wild dream was o'er;—
I would but mingle in the crowd
And gaze on her once more.
******
It was the evening of that day,
That day when laughter glad
Rang out, mid dance and mirthful play,
From some—while I was sad.
'Twas evening, and the crowded hall
Mocked the less dazzling day;
And rainbow-like the hues that all
Shone in that festal ray.
