LIFE.
133
Her pale and stricken brow. Her eye, that once
Had danced so wildly to the melody
Of her own soul's sweet fancies, looked through tears.
Yet sparkled with the strange mysterious light
That tells of coming death. A deep-drawn sigh,
More dismal than the sobbing of the wind
Through the lone ruins of an ancient tomb,
Told that her heart was broken. And as there
She bowed her forehead low upon her hand,
Her anguish thus found utterance.
Had danced so wildly to the melody
Of her own soul's sweet fancies, looked through tears.
Yet sparkled with the strange mysterious light
That tells of coming death. A deep-drawn sigh,
More dismal than the sobbing of the wind
Through the lone ruins of an ancient tomb,
Told that her heart was broken. And as there
She bowed her forehead low upon her hand,
Her anguish thus found utterance.
"What is life?
Oh, what is life ? A sigh, a tear, a frown,
A shadow and a mockery! The light clouds,
That moved so sweetly o'er my morning sky,
Have darkened to a tempest; the bright waves
That caught the morning and the evening beam,
Wear midnight's sable hue, and break and roar
In yeasty wrath around me; and the winds
That used to linger on my floating curls',
And with their dew-lips kiss my rosy cheeks,
Oh, what is life ? A sigh, a tear, a frown,
A shadow and a mockery! The light clouds,
That moved so sweetly o'er my morning sky,
Have darkened to a tempest; the bright waves
That caught the morning and the evening beam,
Wear midnight's sable hue, and break and roar
In yeasty wrath around me; and the winds
That used to linger on my floating curls',
And with their dew-lips kiss my rosy cheeks,
