 | Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne |  |
XXX.
THE MIGHT HAVE BEEN.
Once in the twilight hour there stole on meA strange, sweet spirit! In her tender eyes
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And tranquil was she as a summer sea;
An air of large, divine benignity
Breathed, like a living garb of spiritual dyes
About her—with the gentle fall and rise
Of her heart pulses tuned to mystery—
But, as I gazed, a sadness deep as death
Crept o'er the beauty of her brow serene
And a faint tremor stirred her shadowy lips;
“Thou know'st me not, “she sighed, with mournful breath;
“How can'st thou know me? Lo, through Fate's eclipse,
Thou seest, too late, too late, thy Might Have Been!”
| Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne | |