of her mind was betrayed by the quiver of her lips, showing
An aching head on thee. Then down the streams
The moon might swim; and I should feel her grace,
While soft winds blew the sorrows from my face
So quiet in the fellowship of dreams.''
I CANNOT tell what change hath come to you
To vex your splendid hair. I only know
One grief: The Passion left betwixt us two,
Like some forsaken watchfire, burneth low.