THE FORSAKEN.
I dreamed a dream, that I had flung a chain
Of roses around Love,—I woke, and found
I had chained Sorrow.
L. E. L.
I have caught the last wave of his snow-white plume,—
How fast to-night closes the evening gloom;
I have heard the last sound of his horse's feet,—
Oh, wind! once more the echoes repeat.
I should not weep thus if thou wert gone
Away to the battle as oft thou hast done;
Or, if I wept, my tears would be
But voiceless orisons for thee.
Thou wert wont to part my scarf on thine arm,
My last kiss laid on thy lips like a charm;
I could pray, and believe that thy maiden's prayer
Would be with thee in battle, and guard thee there.
But now thou art gone to the festival,
To the crowded city, the lighted hall,
In the courtly beauty's shining bower,
Little thou 'lt think of thine own wild flower.
