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151
V.
THE WILLOW.
As o'er thy pendent leaves the zephyr flies,Lifting their silver lining to the light,
Their mournful shiver, like a thousand sighs,
Wakes in the heart a tremulous delight.
Thy weeping vigil consecrates the grave,
When through each trailing bough the moonshine gleams,
And, like hopes cast upon oblivion's wave,
Thy withered verdure flecks the autumn streams.
What graceful meekness sways thy drooping form,
Thou sylvan effigy of love and wo!
In gentle patience yielding to the storm,
The wisdom of a lowly trust to show:
Of thee divinely sung Othello's bride,
And in thy shade the fair Ophelia died.
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