THE VOW OF THE PEACOCK.
95
Once, and once only, let me speak
Of all that I have felt for years;
You read it not upon my cheek,
You dreamed not of it in my tears.
And yet I loved thee with a love
That into every feeling came;
I never looked on heaven above
Without a prayer to bless thy name.
I had no other love to share,
That which was thine—and thine alone;
A few sad thoughts it had to spare
For those beneath the funeral stone.
But every living hope was thine,
Affection with my being grew;
