Poems (Denver)/Italy's Daughter
ITALY'S DAUGHTER.
She stole from my heart like a wave from a fountain,
That stealeth sweet song from the heart of the mountain;
But not like that wave leaving music behind her,
That changed into rapture each hope that enshrined her;
But like a torn ship lying dead on the water
Was the heart she left desolate—Italy's daughter.
That stealeth sweet song from the heart of the mountain;
But not like that wave leaving music behind her,
That changed into rapture each hope that enshrined her;
But like a torn ship lying dead on the water
Was the heart she left desolate—Italy's daughter.
I knew that a beam had deserted life's ocean,
Which love had watched over with earnest devo-tion;
But knew not the name of the glory departed,
That left me so lonely and desolate-hearted,
Until over the dark waves a spirit-bird sought her
And then I remembered her—Italy's daughter.
Which love had watched over with earnest devo-tion;
But knew not the name of the glory departed,
That left me so lonely and desolate-hearted,
Until over the dark waves a spirit-bird sought her
And then I remembered her—Italy's daughter.
And still o'er the far waves a holy watch keeping,
Unchilled by repinings, yet chastened with weeping,
Though the storms of life's ocean in vain would dissever,
My heart watches over her, faithful forever;
For still flies the spirit-bird over the water,
And still I remember her—Italy's daughter!
Unchilled by repinings, yet chastened with weeping,
Though the storms of life's ocean in vain would dissever,
My heart watches over her, faithful forever;
For still flies the spirit-bird over the water,
And still I remember her—Italy's daughter!
