- - They met no more, but still that glorious shape
Haunted her visions; life to her was changed;
Gaiety, hope, and happiness, were all
Centered in one deep thought. The time had been,
When never smile was sunnier than her's,
No step more buoyant, and no song more glad:
All, all was changed; she fled to solitude,
And poured her wild complainings to the groves,
And Echo answered—Echo, that, like her,
Had pined with ill-starred love! Oh never, never
Had love a temple like a woman's heart!
She will serve so devotedly, will give
Youth, beauty, health, in sacrifice; will be
So very faithful!—without hope to cheer,
Or tenderness to soothe, her love yet will
Continue unto death. Clytie dwelt
On that once cherished memory; she would gaze
For hours upon the sky, and watch the sun;
And when the pale light faded from the west,
Would weep till morning. Is it not just thus
In that fine semblance, where the painter's touch
Has bodied forth her beauty and her sorrow
That she is pictured with a sad soft smile,
Turned to the azure home of her heart's god?
A fresh green landscape round, just like those groves,
The Grecian groves, where she was wont to roam.
- - - Look, dear, upon that flower—'tis hallowed
By the remembrance of unhappy love,
'Tis sacred to the slighted Clytie;
Look, how it turns its bosom to the sun.
And when dark clouds have shadowed it, or night
Is on the sky, mark how it folds its leaves,
And droops its head, and weeps sweet tears of dew,
The constant Sun-flower. L. E. L.
