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.
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.
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!
