 | Poems |  |
103
AN IDEAL.
A soft ideal long beloved,
But long beloved in vain,
In Memory's gallery hangs alone,
The picture of my brain!
But long beloved in vain,
In Memory's gallery hangs alone,
The picture of my brain!
It is not young nor beautiful,
But worn with sin and care,—
Like her who washed the feet of Christ,
And wiped them with her hair!
But worn with sin and care,—
Like her who washed the feet of Christ,
And wiped them with her hair!
But oh! the sweetness of the face,—
The sadness of the eye!—
It haunts my soul by day and night,
And will until I die!
The sadness of the eye!—
It haunts my soul by day and night,
And will until I die!
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