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| SHE hath no beauty in her face | |
| Unless the chastened sweetness there, | |
| And meek long-suffering, yield a grace | |
| To make her mournful features fair:— | |
| |
| Shunned by the gay, the proud, the young, | 5 |
| She roams through dim, unsheltered ways; | |
| Nor lover’s vow, nor flatterer’s tongue | |
| Brings music to her sombre days:— | |
| |
| At best her skies are clouded o’er, | |
| And oft she fronts the stinging sleet, | 10 |
| Or feels on some tempestuous shore | |
| The storm-waves lash her naked feet. | |
| |
| Where’er she strays, or musing stands | |
| By lonesome beach, by turbulent mart, | |
| We see her pale, half-tremulous hands | 15 |
| Crossed humbly o’er her aching heart! | |
| |
| Within, a secret pain she bears,— | |
| pain too deep to feel the balm | |
| An April spirit finds in tears; | |
| Alas! all cureless griefs are calm! | 20 |
| |
| Yet in her passionate strength supreme, | |
| Despair beyond her pathway flies, | |
| Awed by the softly steadfast beam | |
| Of sad, but heaven-enamored eyes! | |
| |
| Who pause to greet her, vaguely seem | 25 |
| Touched by fine wafts of holier air; | |
| As those who in some mystic dream | |
| Talk with the angels unaware! | |
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