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john4525

eir flight
So holy was the time.
I've heard that when the rainbow fades
From parting clouds on high
It leaves where smiled the radiant arch
A fragrance in the sky:
It may be fantasyI know
But round that hour of Death
I always found an aroma
On every zephyr's breath.
And this is why the twilight hour
Is holier far to me
Than gorgeous burst of morning light
Or moonbeams on the sea.
THE MANIAC.
20
A story is told in Spainof a womanwhoby a sudden shock of domestic calamitybecame insaneand ever
after looked up incessantly to the sky.
O'er her infant's couch of death
Bent a widowed mother low;
And the quickconvulsive breath
Marked the inward weight of woe.
Round the fair child's forehead clung
Golden tressesdamp and bright;
While Death's pinion o'er it hung
And the parted lips grew white.
Reason left the mother's eye
When the latest pang was o'er;
Then she raised her gaze on high
Turned it earthward nevermore.
By the dark and silent tomb
Where they laid the dead to rest;
By the empty cradle's gloom
And the fireside once so blest;
In the lone and narrow cell
Fettered by the clanking chain
Where the maniac's piercing yell
Thrilled the heart with dread [link widoczny dla zalogowanych]