BORN OF THE SPIRIT.
She called me a moment before,
And smiled, as I entered the door,
In her gentle way;
A sigh . . . a droop of the head . . .
And something forever had fled,
And she was but clay!
And smiled, as I entered the door,
In her gentle way;
A sigh . . . a droop of the head . . .
And something forever had fled,
And she was but clay!
Her hand was yet clasped in mine;
And bright, in the golden shine,
Her brown hair fell;
But the marble Psyche there
As soon would have heard my prayer,
My wild farewell.
And bright, in the golden shine,
Her brown hair fell;
But the marble Psyche there
As soon would have heard my prayer,
My wild farewell.
T was the hush of an autumn noon,
So clear that the waning moon
Was a ghost in the sky;
Not a leaf on the lindens swayed,
And even the brook in the glade
Ran, noiseless, by.
So clear that the waning moon
Was a ghost in the sky;
Not a leaf on the lindens swayed,
And even the brook in the glade
Ran, noiseless, by.
What had gone from the room,
Leaving the sunshine gloom,
The soft air chill?
Leaving the sunshine gloom,
The soft air chill?
