Читать книгу The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 18, No. 108, October, 1866 - Various - Страница 2

The snow-flakes floated many a star

To earth, from pale December's skies,

When a fair spirit from afar

Smiled through an infant's violet eyes.

And as she sweetly breathed, the hours

Wove, like a robe of gossamer,

All grace about her, while the flowers

Their tints and perfumes gave to her.

In after time, when violets grew,

And pale anemones veiled the land,

She drooped her modest eyes of blue,

And gave to Love her maiden hand.

Four times the holy angels came,

To greet her with a dear unrest;

And, in a mother's saintly name,

Left a young angel on her breast.

Eight lustrums pure celestial eyes

Beamed through her tender, loving gaze,

Commingling all the sweet surprise

Of heavenly with the earthly rays.

At last, her gentle face grew pale

As the anemones of spring;

And whiter than her bridal veil

Was that in which she took her wing.

And than that fixed despair more white,

Softly the stars, in feathery snows,

Came, covering with serener light

Her folded hands, her meek repose.

Pale stars, through which the Night looked down,

Until they wept away in showers

On those dear hands, which clasped the crown,

And closer still the cross, of flowers.

The snow-flakes melt on earth in tears;

The eternal stars in glory shine;

While in the shroud of desolate years

Dead Love awaits the immortal sign.