ALICE LEE.
Through the dim and lonely forest
Comes a low sweet sound,
Like the whispering of angels
To the greenwood round,
Bearing through the hours of midnight,
On their viewless wings,
Music in its measure telling
High and holy things.
Through the forest lone and dim
Swelleth soft the twilight hymn
Of the old knight's lovely daughter.
The gentle Alice Lee.
On the grass the dews unbroken
In their silver lie,
And the stars are out in thousands
On the deep blue sky;
Bright as when the old Chaldeans
Held them as the shrine
Where was kept the varying fortune
Of our human line.
Would that o'er their mystic scroll
Better hours may have to roll
For the old knight's lovely daughter.
The gentle Alice Lee!
