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, 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, 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 Crossed humbly o'er her aching heart! Within, a secret pain she bears, -- A pain too deep to feel the balm An April spirit finds in tears; Alas! all cureless griefs are calm! Yet in her passionate strength surpreme, Despair beyond her pathway flies, Awed by the softly steadfast beam Of sad, but heaven-enamored eyes! Who pause to greet her, vaguely seem Touched by fine wafts of holier air; As those who in some mystic dream Talk with the angels unaware! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MY FATHER by WILLIAM SYDNEY GRAHAM THE TEMPER (1) by GEORGE HERBERT THE BARD'S ANNUAL DEFIANCE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS INSCRIPTIONS: 2. FOR A STATUE OF CHAUCER AT WOODSTOCK by MARK AKENSIDE SONNET (4) by JOACHIM DU BELLAY GOOD NIGHT by HESTER A. BENEDICT |