But one heart lies beneath, and that is good, Would win men back to strength and peace through love: With vulture beak; yet the high soul is left; And faith, which is but hope grown wise; and love SONG. VIOLET! Sweet violet! Thine eyes are full of tears; With the thought of other years? And longing for those far-off spheres ? All the fair and sunny past, All its openness and truth, Ever fresh and green in thee Thy little heart, that hath with love All the woe Of hope for what returneth never, To these hearts of ours belonging? Out on it! no foolish pining Dims thine eye, Or for the stars so calmly shining; 1843. Violet! dear violet! Thy blue eyes are only wet With joy and love of him who sent thee, And for the fulfilling sense Of that glad obedience Which made thee all that Nature meant thee! ROSALINE. THOU look'dst on me all yesternight, Mine eyes scarce knew if thou wert dead,— The death-watch ticked behind the wall, A wildness rushing suddenly, 'Tis drear such moonless nights as these, 1841. 57 Thy shroud is all of snowy white, There is no sorrow in thine eyes, Above thy grave the robin sings, The gravestone is o'ergrown with moss; I did not know when thou wast dead; A blackbird whistling overhead Thrilled through my brain; I would have fled, The sun rolled down, and very soon, Like a great fire, the awful moon Rose, stained with blood, and then a swoon Crept chilly o'er me, Rosaline! The stars came out; and, one by one, Each angel from his silver throne Looked down and saw what I had done: I dared not hide me, Rosaline! I crouched; I feared thy corpse would cry I waited with a maddened grin But no voice came: and then it seemed And then, amid the silent night, |