 | The Lady of La Garaye |  |
A spell is on the efforts each would make,
With willing spirit, for the other's sake:
Through some new path of thought he fain would move,—
And she her languid hours would fain employ,—
But bitter grows the sweetness of their love,—
And a lament lies under all their joy.
She, watches Claud,—bending above the page;
Thinks him grown pale, and wearying with his care;
And with a sigh his promise would engage
For happy exercise and summer air:
He, watches her, as sorrowful she lies,
And thinks she dreams of woman's hope denied;
Of the soft gladness of a young child's eyes,
And pattering footsteps on the terrace wide,—
Where sunshine sleeps, as in a home for light,
And glittering peacocks make a rainbow show,—
But which seems sad, because that terrace bright
Must evermore remain as lone as now.
With willing spirit, for the other's sake:
Through some new path of thought he fain would move,—
And she her languid hours would fain employ,—
But bitter grows the sweetness of their love,—
And a lament lies under all their joy.
She, watches Claud,—bending above the page;
92
And with a sigh his promise would engage
For happy exercise and summer air:
He, watches her, as sorrowful she lies,
And thinks she dreams of woman's hope denied;
Of the soft gladness of a young child's eyes,
And pattering footsteps on the terrace wide,—
Where sunshine sleeps, as in a home for light,
And glittering peacocks make a rainbow show,—
But which seems sad, because that terrace bright
Must evermore remain as lone as now.
| The Lady of La Garaye | |