 | Carmina crucis |  |
17
A THOUGHT AT MIDNIGHT.
Oh! that some soul o'er-weigh'dWith love and pity, as a flower with dew,
For me at this still moment wept and pray'd,
And pray'd for me alone! that leaning through
My casement, now to mine a spirit drew
So close it scarce could hear
My secret, nor my tear
Could feel, nor mark my breast
That flutter'd in unrest,
Till, like two drops that roll
Within each other on the shaken leaf,
Absorbed and sunk within the tender soul
Of pity, pass'd the shrinking soul of grief!
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