[Illustration: I]
If I could tell how tender are the sighs
Of that most lovely Lady who was mine
And now is set in heaven for a sign,
And yet seems here, lives, feels, walks, loves and cries,
A giant in your breast desire would rise!
She comes, by some swift sympathy divine,
Whenever on my lonely road I pine,
Faint or turn back, pause where the wrong road lies:
“Straight up, towards Heaven, is the way to go;”
Her soft phrase, low and wistful, ends in prayer,
In thoughts celestial that are all her own:
And then I vow the mighty things I dare,
Strong in the sweetness which doth pierce me so,
Yea, would have power to draw tears from a stone.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]