66
THE VOW OF THE PEACOCK.
While the soft shades of evening fling
A richer darkness on each ring.
She looks around, 'tis not to watch
The purple phantasies of eve;
She listens, it is not to catch
The music which the waters weave;
For, with a low, perpetual sound,
The haunted waves are dashing round.
A face is present to her eye,
A voice is ringing in her ear;
Ah! love brings many an object nigh
The heart alone can see and hear.
Her broidery aside is flung,
Aside the small seed pearls she strung;
