144
HEAD OF ARIADNE.
Her love betrayed, another flower
Withering before a blight.
Look down within the silent grave;
How much of breath and bloom
Have wasted,—passion's sacrifice
Offered to the lone tomb.
Look on her hour of solitude,
How many bitter cares
Belie the smile with which the lip
Would sun the wound it bears.
Mark this sweet face! oh, never blush
Has past o'er one more fair,
And never o'er a brighter brow
Has wandered raven hair.
