 | Julia Alpinula |  |
228
“Et longum, formose, vale! vale! inquit Iola.”—Virgil.
1
This scorn of all the glorious stirWhich sunshine brings to morn,—
This darkening upon flower and fir,
These lonely hours—all, all concur
To tell that thou art gone!
2
The night that falls on Memory's brain,In slumbers sad, but dear;
A lightless lamp—a severed chain,
Are all of thee that now remain
To tell that thou wert here.
229
3
Although the links could disunite,The lamp in crystals break,—
Their very fragments have the light
Of stars, and I in fortune's spite
Will gaze—though all forsake.
4
The fond farewell to others given,I envy not you gave;
The same to me accorded, even
Although my very soul had striven,
Had made that soul a slave.
5
Thy one last glance to one unknown,Enough suffices me;
A smile or two—a tender tone
Fading in music, serve alone
For Memory's reverie.
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6
She shall not let the lightest thingThat breathes of thee decline;
No! sad or happy, she shall cling,
Like bees upon the flower of spring,
To each dear leaf of thine!
| Julia Alpinula | |