158
THE GOLDEN VIOLET.
When the red meteor rides the cloud,
Telling the storm has burst its shroud:
A passionate hue was on her cheek;
Untranquil colours, such as break
With crimson light the northern sky:
Yet on her wan lip seem'd to lie
A faint sweet smile, as if not yet
It could its early charm forget.
She sang, oh! well the heart might own
The magic of so dear a tone.
SONG.
I know my heart is as a grave
Where the cypress watch is keeping
Over hopes and over thoughts
In their dark silence sleeping.
