Has far more culture and more care
From summer sun and summer air.
—My mother, she was laid to rest
Within the green earth's quiet breast;
My father had another bride,
And other children grew beside
The orphan one—his love could be
So much for them—'twas nought for me.
I never mingled in their mirth,
I saw their smiles, but shared them not;
And in the circle round the hearth
My very being seem'd forgot.
They call'd me sullen, said my heart
In natural fondness had no part;
For that I sate apart from all,
With cold cheek turn'd to the dark wall.
I hid my face—I could not bear
It should be seen, while tears were there.
"I had a haunt, 'twas by the shade
Wherein my mother's grave was made:
It was a church-yard, small and lone,
Without a monumental stone;
But flowers were planted by each grave,
Sweet, like the thoughts they seem'd to save
From Time's forgetfulness—but one,
One only, mid the sods had none—
Grown with tall weeds, as if the wind
Were the sole mourner it could find,
And in its careless course had brought
Whatever seeds its wild wings caught.
And marvel you I had no pride
To make that tomb like those beside?
—Methought if there my hand should bring
The sunny treasures of the spring,
It would reproach my father's eye,
That long had pass'd it careless by.
"My melancholy childhood gone,
Youth, with its dreamy time, came on;
Affections long repress'd and chill'd,
Days with their own vain fancies fill'd,
Which haunt the heart—what soil was here
For Love's wild growth of hope and fear?
—It matters not my early tale,
My heart was won, my will was frail;
I knew I was not Evelyn's bride,—
But what to me the world beside?
One only voice was in my ear,
I only sought to meet one eye—
And if to me they ever changed,
I knew that I could only die!
"Terrible city!—London, thou
Who liftest like a queen thy brow;
Stern, cold, and proud the night when first
Thy mighty world upon me burst;
Houses, yet none of them my home;
Faces, of which I knew not one;
