 | Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne |  |
XXXVI.
THE SHALLOW HEART!
“Pity her,” say'st thou, “pity her!” nay, not I!Her heart is shallow as yon garrulous rill
That froths o'er pebbles: grief, true grief is still,
Deathfully solemn as eternity
Thro' whose dread realm its silent fancies fly
Seeking the lost and loved; sorrows that kill
Life's hope, are like those poisons which distil
Their noiseless dews beneath the midnight sky:—
Their venom works in secret! gnaws the heart,
And withers the worn spirit, albeit no sign
Shows the sad inward havoc, till some day,
(Pledging our calm friend o'er the purpling wine),
Sudden, he falls amongst us, and we start
At a low whisper, “He has passed away!”
| Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne | |