University of Virginia Library

Search this document 

collapse sectionI. 
expand section 
expand section 
expand section 
expand section 
expand section 
expand section 
expand section 
expand section 
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
 XIX. 
 XX. 
 XXI. 
 XXII. 
 XXIII. 
 XXIV. 
 XXV. 
 XXVI. 
 XXVII. 
 XXVIII. 
 XXIX. 
 XXX. 
 XXXI. 
 XXXII. 
 XXXIII. 
 XXXIV. 
 XXXV. 
 XXXVI. 
 XXXVII. 
 XXXVIII. 
 XXXIX. 
 XL. 
expand section 
expand section 
expand sectionII. 
expand sectionIII. 
expand sectionIV. 
expand sectionV. 
expand sectionVI. 


320

XV. THE HEART KNOWETH ITS OWN BITTERNESS.

We sat together underneath a lime,
Whose netted branches wove an emerald night;
And in short sentences—in low and light
Whispers—recalled the stories of old time:
Until some word, I know not what, some rhyme
Dragged out a hidden grief, that lived—in spite
Of creeping lichen years—such years as might
Well humble all that once was thought sublime.
My grief it was, and will be: she but sees
A strangeness which she cannot understand;
A nameless tower overgrown with trees;
A heap of stones encumbering the land;
A hearth now haunted by the wintry breeze,
Long, long ago, by love and fancy fanned.
January 19, 1858.