200
She feels that in that lovelier, happier sphere,
Her bosom yet will, bird-like, find its mate.
And all the joys it found so blissful here
Within that spirit-realm perpetuate.
Her bosom yet will, bird-like, find its mate.
And all the joys it found so blissful here
Within that spirit-realm perpetuate.
Yet, sometimes o'er her trembling heart-strings thrill
Soft sighs, for raptures it hath ne'er enjoyed,—
And then she dreams of love, and strives to fill
With wild and passionate thoughts the craving void.
And thus she wanders on—half sad, half blest—
Without a mate for the pure, lonely heart,
That, yearning, throbs within her virgin breast,
Never to find its lovely counterpart!
Soft sighs, for raptures it hath ne'er enjoyed,—
And then she dreams of love, and strives to fill
With wild and passionate thoughts the craving void.
And thus she wanders on—half sad, half blest—
Without a mate for the pure, lonely heart,
That, yearning, throbs within her virgin breast,
Never to find its lovely counterpart!
