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156
SONG V.
[Lady with the pensive brow]
Lady with the pensive brow,
Why sits sorrow on thy face?
Through that sadness, even now,
I can all thy beauty trace.
Why that tear upon thy cheek,
And that dimness in thine eye?
Ah! thou then didst more than speak
In that long and deep-drawn sigh!
Why sits sorrow on thy face?
Through that sadness, even now,
I can all thy beauty trace.
Why that tear upon thy cheek,
And that dimness in thine eye?
Ah! thou then didst more than speak
In that long and deep-drawn sigh!
157
II
Why rests thine hand upon thy heart?—And has the sharp shaft entered there?
Could it, then, pierce no other part,
That less could feel, and better bear?
Cruel to deal so hard a blow,—
To strike where lies the deepest sorrow.
The fount from whence all grief doth flow
That dries not on the coming morrow.
III
Oh! hang not thus thy beauteous head,Like a sweet but drooping flower;
By the tears thine eyes have shed,
Let the sunshine chase the shower.
Come, dry thine eyes, and cease to grieve,
Weeping will never wash him pure.
Man did ever thus deceive—
Lovely woman must endure.
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