_In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth on
men,--an image was before mine eyes; there was silence, and I heard a
voice_. JOB iv. 13.
Reproach me not, beloved shade!
Nor think thy memory less I prize;
The smiles that o'er my features play'd,
But hid my pangs from vulgar eyes.
I acted like the worldling boy,
With heart to every feeling vain:
I smil'd with all, yet felt no joy;
I wept with all, yet felt no pain,
No--though, to veil thoughts of gloom,
I seem'd to twine Joy's rosy wreath,
'Twas but as flowerets o'er a tomb.
Which only hide the woe beneath.
I lose no portion of my woes,
Although my tears in secret flow;
More green and fresh the verdure grows,
Where the cold streams run hid below.