 | The poetical works of Barry Cornwall |  |
207
ROSAMUND GRAY. (A Fragment. )
Once—but she died—I knew a village girl(Poor Rosamund Gray,) who, in my fancy, did
Surpass the deities you tell me of.
Haply you may have passed her; and indeed
Her beauty was not made for all observance,
If beauty it might be called. It was a sick
And melancholy loveliness, that pleased
But few; and somewhat of its charm, perhaps,
Owed to the lonely spot she dwelt in.—I
Knew her from her infancy; a shy, sad girl;
And gossips when they saw her, oftentimes
Would tell her future fortunes. They would note
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Had made fast friends with sorrow, and would say
Hers was an early fate: that she would pine
From grief—neglect—or cast her youth away
On love without requital.—She grew a woman:
Yet, when from some long absence I returned,
I knew again the pretty child I left.
Her hair of deepest chesnut, (that which once
Fell in thick shining clusters,) 'round a brow
Pale as Greek marble, wandered tastefully:
But still there were the same blue eyes, and still
Their melancholy splendour; bearing now
Proof of the gossip's prophecy. ------[OMITTED]
| The poetical works of Barry Cornwall | |