And bright the sparkling zone round her slight waist,
Fastening the foldings of her snowy robe.—
She knelt, and hid her face; and when she rose,
Her cheek was pale, and bore the trace of tears,
Wearing that look of faded loveliness
Which tells the blight of misery hath pass'd,
And that the heart is withering silently!
She gaz'd upon the glass which stood beside—
It gave a lovely semblance back; a form
Of matchless grace; a face where beauty dwelt;
But sorrow's records there were deeply trac'd.
The eloquence of that soft countenance
Bore the dark characters of grief; the look
She wildly gave, seem'd agony; the tears
That did but tremble 'neath the eyelash, fell
Upon the delicate hand that press'd her brow.
Well might that glance be agony; so fair,
In life's most happy season! yet to her
