THE SISTERS.
209
She followed him. The sweet night breeze
Brought odours from the orange trees,—
She paused not for their fragrant sigh:
There came a sound of music nigh,
A voice of song, a distant chime
To mark the vespers' starry time,—
She heard it not: the moonbeams fell
O'er vine-wreathed hill and olive dell,
With cottages, and their gay show
Of roses for a portico;
One which stood by a beech alone,—
Looked she not back upon that one?
Alas! she looked but in that eye
Where now was writ her destiny.
The heart love leaves looks back ever;
The heart where he is dwelling, never.
P
