 | Eonchs of ruby. A Gift of Love |  |
157
THE VOICE OF THOUGHT.
Faint as the far-down toneBeneath the sounding sea,
Muffled, by its own moan,
To silent melody;
So faint we cannot tell
But that the sound we hear
Is some sweet roses' smell
That falls upon our ear;
(As if the Butterfly,
Shaking the Lily-bell,
While drinking joyfully,
Should toll its own death-knell!)
Sweeter than Hope's sweet lute
Singing of joys to be,
When Pain's harsh voice is mute,
Is the Soul's sweet song to me.
| Eonchs of ruby. A Gift of Love | |