V

And once more came they by;—alas! wherefore?

      My sleep had been embroider'd with dim dreams;

My soul had been a lawn besprinkled o'er

      With flowers, and stirring shades, and baffled beams:

The morn was clouded, but no shower fell,

      Tho' in her lids hung the sweet tears of May;

            The open casement press'd a new-leaved vine,

      Let in the budding warmth and throstle's lay;

O Shadows! 't was a time to bid farewell!

            Upon your skirts had fallen no tears of mine.